Chapter Twenty Nine

Carza stared. Somehow, somehow... no, she wasn't going to accept this, this was beyond improbable, it was in the realms of... of delusion. This was the sort of thing she'd come up with if she had died in that attic and was hallucinating some... some world where theatrical improbabilities and insane contrivances of logic existed. Because Anthan was back. She barely knew him, honestly. A handsome, rugged man who'd not spoken much on the train, mostly spending his time staring moodily out of the window while pondering how precisely to shave in order to yield the most feature-accentuating form of stubble... and then in Krodaw, he'd been busy working. Hadn't done much of anything, really, her attention had been firmly occupied by Egg and Cam and Lirana, who were generally much more personable, or had died in a way that made her actively consider shooting up a big-old-needle of cocaine. Anthan had been a non-entity. So, naturally, her delusional, dying, smoke-addled brain had decided to conjure him up, because she couldn't point out character inconsistencies in someone that she knew nothing about. And yet... no, she couldn't run away from reality, as improbable and stupid as it was.

Anthan was standing there. Rugged as ever. With one of Kralat's wives leaning on his shoulder heavily... goodness, was she injured? Had one of the mutants managed to claw away at her in some way? No, there were no visible wounds, no bandages, no limp... not even particularly pale, no sign of her being injured. Well, maybe she'd been thrown against a tree and had developed a delightful tapestry of bruises, to match Carza's.

Oh, right. She'd shrieked at him. And Anthan was now striding over.

Corks, he was rugged. She'd forgotten how rugged, but... hoo. Hell, if this was a hallucination before she died, might as well take in the view. No, wait, that was dismally vulgar. If she was willing to be vulgar on her deathbed, then she might as well have been vulgar the rest of the time. No, she was going to prove that her inner nature was virtuous and kindly and not vulgar, by not being vulgar even as smoke filled her lungs and she possibly began to hallucinate a rugged man with his shirt slightly open and his skin flushed with the heat, and... goodness, he paid attention to his stubble. And then the shock started to wear off, and she heard the cries of carrion mutants as they tore apart the bodies on the ground, ripping themselves apart to purge the poison they accidentally swallowed. Each cry was painfully unique. Squawks, gurgles, warbling chirps, or croaks which sounded eerily like a human voice. And she remembered the bodies in the temple... and suddenly felt very sick indeed. Surprise had muffled it, but... she needed a nap. She needed many naps. And with shaking hands, she lit up a cigarillo, and smoked like her life depended on it, relishing in the sweet, sweet taste of tobacco... helped stop her from shivering so much.

Right. Anthan. Anthan.

Hull took over.

"...sorry, how are you alive?"

Anthan shrugged easily, and the woman at his side laughed lightly, leaning on him more. Ah, that explained it. Concussion. She'd been injured in the head region and was now feeling unsteady. Explained the sudden laughter. What a decent man.

"Well, I... noticed the ambush was going to happen, so I ran off."

Carza almost bit her cigarillo in half. Her voice was a low growl.

"And you didn't warn us?"

"If I did, it wouldn't have changed anything. I used the opportunity to run off, hide in the forest. They were distracted with capturing you guys, scalping their victims... normal things. But I felt real rotten about leaving you alone, so... I just followed you, really."

"Followed us?"

"Yep. Not too hard. They were transporting prisoners, so they were going slowly, clumsily... easier to follow. Once I had an idea on where they were going, I went ahead of them, remaining concealed, and approached the temple. You're paying my contract, and... honestly, I wasn't going to abandon you. That'd be the lowest thing a fellow could do, abandoning his employers and colleagues to preserve his own safety. Not to mention, the Sleepless are... the Sleepless, I wasn't going to just let you rot. Not to mention, we had a contract. And I don't break my contracts. Then, I made contact with... well..."

The woman at his side, Kralat's wife, smiled slightly.

"I was out collecting mushrooms when I found him bathing."

Carza blinked. The woman noticed her look, and laughed for a moment, before adjusting her statement.

"In the blood of two Sleepless who'd attempted to kill him. But also, he was very naked at the time, on account of being caught while bathing in a more... normal fashion."

Carza flushed slightly. How... indecent. Anthan grinned.

"Anyway, we hit it off, and it turns out that my special lady here wasn't very interested in sticking around. Let's just say her husband wasn't one she acquired voluntarily... and she was in the mood for moving on. Then, it was just a matter of getting some particular herbs from the forest, adding it to their meals... very specific stuff, but very good on mutants. Issue is, getting them to eat it in the first place, not much use otherwise. But for mutants just human enough to eat normal food... well, easy enough. Gotta say, didn't expect you to kill the boss in charge. Good move, that. Destabilised everything, removed a pretty big roadblock to any real victory."

He nodded appreciatively, and Carza still felt numb. Couldn't take pride in killing Kralat. Part of her still refused to believe that he was dead at all. He was still standing, his eyes were still open, he looked like a waxwork ready to spring to life at a moment's notice. And that part of her helped stop her from throwing up again, or curling up and refusing to move for hours on end. Because if he was still alive, then she hadn't helped kill him, and her bruises were just random occurrences untethered to anything else, and she wasn't a murderer. She was still Carza vo Anka, the person who liked theatrophone comedies and cigarillos and fruitcake and Melqua and Hull and anthropology and who didn't kill people.

Egg hummed, letting his rifle fall down slightly. Relaxed.

"...you did all this because of a contract?"

A sudden thought. Was he being hired by someone else? Had Miss vo Larima... no, the woman looked as confused as the rest of them, even if she was hiding it better. Anthan looked at Egg like he was a complete, colossal idiot.

"Yes. I signed a contract, I agreed to render services in exchange for salary, and one of those services was making sure that my employers stay alive. I'm not going to shirk that. Running away was necessary to keeping you alive - all of us captured seemed like a recipe for disaster, at least one of us remaining free would give us some wiggle room."

He said this all in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, like it wasn't the most insane thing Carza had heard since... her last dinner with Kralat, honestly. He'd come here because she was paying him? She barely paid him! He was a cheap hire that Hull had picked up from somewhere, some manual occupation which somehow paid less than she did, and he'd been willing to risk life and limb to save her... so she could keep paying him? What... why... she just didn't understand him. And Anthan was nodding like this was completely normal. Egg grunted, and narrowed his eyes... but said nothing. No objections, none whatsoever. Anthan gave the lady beside him a quick squeeze... before his eyes darkened.

"We ought to move, though. There's a spring of contamination nearby, I... may've dammed it up, then un-dammed it for tonight. Attracted some of the more feral Sleepless, helped divide the camp. The ones here are the ones sane enough to take the food given to them without paying it too much scrutiny. But they'll be back. If not to check on their comrades, then to try and get their share of the bodies. We should be gone by then. Still on for crossing the mountains?"

Hull and Carza glanced at each other. Lirana was staring dead ahead, barely comprehending the fact that she was still alive. Miss vo Larima, though... she sniffed, ran a hand through her hair to make sure no inelegant forelocks were dangling over her face, inspected her nails, and brushed off her sleeves. Her nose was still profoundly broken, her face was stained with blood, and one of her eyes was swollen shut. And somehow she just kept acting professional... even if Carza was fairly sure she was two seconds away from a mental breakdown. Which was better than Carza - who was one second away. And better than Lirana, who was currently having that breakdown, even if she had the decency to do it quietly.

"I believe we had an arrangement for you to go over the-"

Carza sank slowly to the ground, staring dead ahead, smoking until she had nothing but a burned stub of a cigarillo between her teeth, that she held onto even as her lips became uncomfortable, even dangerously warm. She couldn't think, she was still... still working through all the insanity that'd just occurred. Kralat was dead, the camp was dead, feral mutants glutted on contamination were likely coming back, and... and Miss vo Larima was talking about arrangements. About a business deal. Was she going insane, or was she the only sane one left. Based on how Hull sank down to join her, and patted her a few times on the back, she at least wasn't doing something totally inexplicable or stupid. She was still being rational. Anthan and Egg began to have a conversation in low voices, and Carza barely caught glimpses of it. Talking about the risks of being pursued, the numbers arrayed against them, the landscape beyond here... apparently Anthan had scouted out the area a little, and had an idea for heading out west. Following the path of a river which had a source up in the foothills, according to his maps. If they followed that, they ought to be fine. The Sleepless were concentrating their efforts on the front lines against Krodaw, beyond here, their influence was more... conventional. Less mind-numbingly brutal and monstrous. They ruled as overlords, yes, and had depopulated huge numbers of villages with their war effort, but... well, they'd moved on. What remained was light, if not non-existent. They should be safe. The issue was getting past this hunting party which would definitely be after them.

The two conversed like tired professionals, and Carza wondered how she'd lucked out in getting them. A quick glance at Hull, loaded with curiosity...

He mumbled awkwardly, still struggling to produce any sound that wasn't an exhausted, prolonged groan.

"...I asked around. Turns out, lots of veterans enjoy coming to ALD IOM. They like the labour, they like the city... they like the peace. I suppose we just got lucky."

She smiled. A little.

"...I suppose so, yes. Anthan, though..."

"I'm as surprised as you are, he never... seemed like much. It feels... well, rather like he's a great, romantic, adventuring hero, and we're the hapless side-characters he has to rescue."

She groaned.

"That feels unfair. We fought. We even won, a little bit."

"Oh, yes. True. We would've died, but... we won a little."

Neither of them felt particularly prideful of that. Anthan... no, no, he couldn't just be a veteran. He'd noticed the ambush, escaped it, tracked the Sleepless, remained hidden while being close to their camp, had seduced Kralat's wife, and had then poisoned the sane Sleepless while leading the insane Sleepless away on a wild goose chase. That was beyond something a regular veteran ought to be able to achieve. Was he lying to them? Was this part of some bigger scheme? Was another Court intervening, sending one of their own agents, or was it something grander... was it something all-encompassing? A conspiracy? Was she being unreasonably paranoid? No, no, definitely not, this was improbable, it required too many successes, there had to be something else. The idea that he could just accomplish this was... was... no. No. She couldn't say why she objected so strongly to the person saving her, but... but...

No idea.

With a great effort, she dragged her attention back to the conversation.

Miss vo Larima had interjected.

"My men, are they still alive?"

Her voice was cold. Her men had been the reason she'd sold out to Kralat in the first place, after all. Anthan nodded.

"Confused and quiet, but alive. Not for long if the Sleepless get back, if they're lucky. If unlucky, they might just be trapped in that cage until disease and starvation takes them."

Miss vo Larima's split lip curled... and Carza honestly wondered if she was going to say 'let them rot' or something equally vicious. Something vengeful. Obviously she'd want revenge on them, some way of paying them back for their treatment of her. And she did have a talent for ruthless calculation, maybe-

"We ought to let them go. I'll see if I can get back to ALD IOM... are there any horses?"

"Some."

"Right. Well, if we have enough, I'd like to request some for my own men - they're sick and weak, if they go on foot they won't get far. We won't need too many, I imagine we'll lose a few men to gangrene or mutation before anything else can happen. Our tools are up in that attic, though, so we'll have supplies, at least..."

Carza blinked.

"...uh... are you... certain that's-"

Miss vo Larima looked down at her with vague pity.

"Ah. Well, the Sleepless will be pursuing us. If we stick together, we'll be pursued by their full force. If we split up, we can divide them. My men are... still my men, even if they're half-dead and half-beastly. They wouldn't survive a mountain crossing, and I don't intend to let them die here. That would be morally reprehensible, to leave my fellow prisoners to die, no matter how... unpleasant they might have been. I have some contacts in Krodaw and surrounding towns, I can negotiate passage back to ALD IOM if necessary. It's obvious my men are escaped prisoners, I, at least, can pass myself off as a weary traveller. I'm not gangrenous. And I'm good at acting."

She sighed.

"It's... not ideal. But I can't leave them to die. The twelfth point of the Saline Manifesto reads, 'treat your employees as disposable, and you can hardly complain when they extend that logic to you. Sow seeds of ruthless calculation, and reap a ruthless, calculated harvest'. If it emerged that I'd killed my own employees out of spite, and because it would be difficult to save them... my reputation would be ruined."

Her words were cold and considered, but her voice shivered, just a little. She was still human, still afraid, still... very much altered by her time in that cage. And to her credit, she wasn't giving in to revenge. Something admirable in that. Even if Carza was going to politely disagree with her 'Saline Manifesto'. She'd seen the slums the Court of Salt maintained, she'd seen the crippling debt they enjoyed saddling people with. Evidently it was one thing to treat a person as disposable, but silly things like spacious homes or freedom were fairly easy to discard once they became unprofitable. No, no, shouldn't be going against someone doing her a genuinely good turn - it made sense, right? Splitting up, distracting the Sleepless, making both of their lives easier... and those people in the cage, they needed medical attention, food, water, rest. None of which could be found if they were being forced to cross a snowy mountain pass while pursued by Sleepless. If they could make it back to Krodaw, or at least to that fort in the forest, they could find some form of safety. Carza had no such luxury. For her, safety now lay over the mountains. She'd killed to preserve that purpose, had been willing to let Miss vo Larima rot in that cage if it meant she could set off on her expedition once more.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She'd sunk herself into this.

And in the end... to properly distract the Sleepless, they'd need to go in radically different directions. Rationally, she had to go West. The people here, they needed to go to Krodaw, down South. Which meant Carza could either go East, North, or West. North and East were deeper into Sleepless territory, and she had no idea where she might end up if she went that way. The mountains offered a massive physical barrier to any pursuers, it lay at the fringes of Sleepless territory, and she knew the place. Wait. One issue.

"...won't both of us need a guide?"

Anthan hummed... and Egg interjected, to her surprise.

"If we're following the river, we'll be alright. Won't be easy to go up it, given that it'd be flowing against us... there's some villages closer to the mountains, apparently. Should be able to hire a guide fairly easily, especially if the Sleepless aren't as active in that area. As for your lot, though, you'll need a guide, definitely. There's a fort a few days from here, not sure how far exactly, but... you'll need a guide. Where's that lad, Shan or something... still alive?"

Carza perked up.

"One of the local soldiers was taken prisoner, but I didn't... see her, not until she... uh... so, there's... there's probably another place where they keep prisoners."

Nods all around. Anthan hummed.

"Noticed some Sleepless going to and from this spot in the forest. Looks like they might have another stockade. I'll see what I can do, maybe Shan's still alive. If he is, he can take you back home."

"...do you think there might be anyone else?"

She wanted to know if any locals were still alive. But the looks she received made her feel... well, small and idiotic. They were dead. Or if they weren't, they were close to dead. Wished they were dead. She remembered the wounds the local girl had suffered, and she'd been kept alive and relatively intact for debating purposes. The others might not have had that luxury. She could imagine it - a stockade in the middle of the steaming forest, all the confinement as the stockade here, and more of the isolation. Sliced up by Sleepless, no ransom to keep them alive, no reason to go easy. It'd be a miracle of Shan was alive at all, if he wasn't, Anthan mentioned that he'd draw up a map for them. Not too far to the fort, so they should be alright, but... well, paid to be safe. The last few arrangements were made. The horses would be integral to the escaped prisoners, they were too weak to run. And with the territory Carza's group would be crossing, they were likely to be unable to use horses at all. She barely engaged with the discussion, contributing only a few murmurs of agreement, struggling to stay awake as adrenaline drained and she was left with a dismal hollowness. With a concerted effort, she drew her nails away from her palm... eight red crescents, still burning, still weeping. Maybe they'd become scars, and turn from red to silver.

Hull squeezed her shoulder... and she almost spat out the now-cold stub of her cigarillo in sheer surprise. Been chewing it for a bit now. No reason, just... nice to have some sort of motion.

"Not your fault."

"...I know."

Didn't make it better, though. Helped murder someone.

"And if it helps, I'm... equally culpable."

"...yeah."

"Come on. Let's get moving."

He hauled her up to her feet, which was rich, given that he was in a worse physical state than she was. The two shambled off to go and get their tools ready, to change their clothes for something marginally cleaner... not in the temple. She couldn't look at that body again. No more dead eyes. No more blood. To her bottomless relief, Egg had already started hauling things down on his broad, powerful back, Lirana helping despite looking like she wanted to collapse. He shot her a kindly look as she shivered in the dull, oppressive heat of the forest night... and the two scholars elected to change behind the structure, concealed from one another by the contortions in the walls. Stared at by austere, long-headed elders from a long-gone people. Happy at the Sleepless being banished from their place of worship? Or angry at how that place had been stained with so much blood? Carza hesitated... and hissed in pain as she began to unbutton her shirt, peeling it free. Bruises. A whole landscape of them. Colours that no flesh should really have... and an illustration of how delicate she was. She still had all her blood, but now it was in the wrong places, apparently. Too close to the surface. Purples and browns and all of it mottled, like the lakebed in some awful continent. Her hiss escalated as she had to tear the shirt free, more or less. Days of stress and panic and stress and movement in the endless heat had left the shirt as a second skin, and by shedding it, she felt... she felt...

Just... burn it later.

Trousers could be salvaged, they were tough enough... unstained, too.

And a moment later, she was standing in a heap of her outer clothes, wearing her chemise, her pantalettes... surrounded by trousers, braces, shirt, undershirt, boots...

And she felt something unwind.

A moment later, she couldn't say how long, she was on the ground again. Curled up. Crying like a child who didn't want to be found. The same desperate intakes of air, shuddering exhalations, tears which flowed without a sound... she shook, and buried her head between her knees, squeezing in an attempt to stay quiet. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Her stomach was a lead weight, her throat was sealed tight, she could barely bring it on herself to breathe. She squeezed her knees harder, until stars exploded in front of her eyes, until the pressure mounted and she found herself feeling... almost pure. Mosquito bites could be soothed by slapping, pinching, scratching... inducing pain, in order to make the body release a flood of anaesthetic chemicals, enough to soothe intense pain, and in the process, soothing the minor, irritating pain. This operated under the same principle. If she squeezed hard enough, if she made a whole night sky dance across her cornea... she could feel pure. Everything dulled, not just the pain. The knowledge that she'd killed someone, and that... that it wasn't over. There wasn't going to be a convenient page-turn and then a new chapter of her life where matters were cleanly divided and she could skip to a safe place, or a safe state of mind, or... something. Instead, she just had to go on.

And on.

And on.

Over the mountains and into the steppe, her hands still reeking of bloody murder.

A very quiet rose rose, distracting her.

"Miss vo Anka? Could you... possibly do me a very small favour?"

Miss vo Larima? Why was... oh. Yes. She'd been in a cage for days, surrounded by sweating bodies. Her clothes were probably worse off than Carza's. Carefully, she stood up, coughing a few times to mask the fact that she was sniffing repeatedly, while also trying to dislodge the phlegm which had built up in her throat. Funny how that happened, she idly thought. Like the body realised something was wrong, and did what it usually did - purge. Purge anything. No wonder she felt sick. No wonder she was coughing up mucus like a child. Visceral reaction to emotional contamination. Slowly, carefully, she dried her eyes... and followed the voice. Miss vo Larima was around one of the many contortions of the temple's walls, dressing herself. She was mostly done, but her shirt, which was much higher-quality than Carza's, was unbuttoned. Her hair, likewise, was still unbound, only fingers used to try and coax it back together. She smiled a little as Carza approached, and winced as she saw the stains around her eyes.

"...very sorry, dear, but... could you button me up?"

Why did...

Her hands were shaking. Could see them, spasming continuously. Grasping at thin air, and letting it go just as quickly. The shirt was already marked with small stains where she'd struggled... and managed to button up one button. And it wasn't even in the correct hole. Carza nodded silently, reached forward, and started working, buttoning her up one at a time. She wore old-fashioned buttons, the sort which weren't stitched into the fabric but came as separate little metal attachments. More common back before laundry detergent could be shipped in from the outside world, and every article of clothing needed to be lashed to pieces by washerwomen in the lower city. Usually these things were cheap and disposable, but... of course Miss vo Larima had proper studs, the kind which needed to be polished. Miracle they hadn't been stolen. No, reserve judgement, just... help her. These were hard enough to insert as it was, part of why they weren't so popular these days, but... she worked away, buttoning up her front. Miss vo Larima kept twitching, and her face shivered between awkwardness, relief, discomfort, gratefulness, practiced neutrality...

"Really very good of you. Sorry about all of this."

Carza grunted... no, that was rude.

"It's alright. Not a problem."

Why did she bother repeating herself in slightly different ways? Gah. Miss vo Larima smiled gently.

"You're... not holding up terribly well."

Carza growled under her breath, feeling more like a rodent than ever.

"Neither are you."

"...no, no, I suppose... suppose not. I am sorry about the business earlier."

She sighed.

"...by all that's good and salty, I'm sorry, I keep trying to apologise like I'm back home, where I apologise without actually apologising, and... sorry. I do mean it. I needed to get out of that cage, I really did, and... I can't excuse betraying your employee, dragging you into this whole mess, but…"

Carza cut her off, surprising even herself.

"I would've done the same thing. I'm surprised you lasted so long."

"...I haven't slept in days."

Carza blinked.

"I haven't. I can't. I was surrounded on all sides, and my employees were not happy with me, and... and I couldn't sleep, I tried to press myself against the bars so I could keep them all in sight, and... it was always small, they only started going for me directly once events wore on, but at the beginning, it was just..."

She touched her hair self-consciously.

"Tugging out strands of hair when I wasn't looking. Poking me with whatever sharp objects they had, then laughing when I squirmed. Schoolground. Then it was a fist in the stomach, or a scratch across my back, or..."

She shivered.

"I needed to get out. And I'm sorry about what that involved."

Her back straightened as Carza finished buttoning her up. Somehow she looked stylish. Some people had all the luck.

"You know, I was... always envious of your lot."

Carza blinked, and took a small step back, suddenly feeling just a little exposed - damn idiot, should've dressed more, she was in her damn chemise and pantalettes, she was indecent. Damned stress.

"Uh."

"I mean, you were all such a silly bunch, but there was something so... deliriously innocent and effortless about you all. We're strivers, never quite settled until we retire, and even then we're expected to sit in on meeting and dispense our wisdoms... most of us never marry, we have to rely on the outer court to supply new members. Just too busy, really. You're a silly bunch, and so arrogant, but... have you ever had a bully, Miss vo Anka?"

"...not really."

Lie. Half-lie. Always too busy to be bullied properly, and once she was a proper student the notion had become completely irrelevant. But she'd not been accepted, especially at first. Took until... her initiations into womanhood to really counteract all of it, to put a final end to the question of where she was from - the question had become irrelevant, once she'd devoted so long and given herself physically to the court.

"...well, there's... I suppose it's like this, there's always a fantasy where you come back, years and years later, and all your tormentors are ugly and fat and lonely and poor, and you're beautiful and willowy and figuratively drowning in close friends and literally drowning in money. And you come back and slap them and they kowtow like good, repentant toads."

...this was getting eerily personal. This was an insight into her life that Carza didn't particularly want.

"But then there's the nightmare that the bully will be the beautiful one, and all your little fantasies are just the dreams of a spiteful gremlin that was lusting for luxuries above its station. And all the bullying will be quite correct. Even... to be expected. And with your lot, it's... rather like that, I find. I strive my whole life, all my colleagues do, we become rich and powerful and prestigious, and yet... a college of people who are poorer than us, less important too... they still stand above us with ease."

Carza blinked slowly.

"...we're not like that."

"I know, I know-"

"No, really. We're not. I can get Hull... once I'm properly dressed, but he'll say the same thing. We're terrified of you when we don't outright hate you - your Court, I mean. Not you personally. We wish we could be as successful as you, as powerful, as rich-"

Miss vo Larima shushed her dismissively.

"Pish tush. Nonsense. You want that so you can swan around doing your holy duties. We want it as an end in itself... and we're keenly aware of how small we are, in the end. Compared to the other companies out there, so much larger and stronger. You serve the purposes of your Founder, don't you?"

"...yes. We do."

"And we follow the teachings of the Saline Manifesto. It's secular, it's dry, it's about proper management."

She laughed, a tinkling, shimmering laugh which reminded her of the governor's palace in Krodaw - a dim memory, insignificant at the time. The artillery strikes which made the chandeliers break into song as all the glass shards struck one another at just the right angle. It was the same theme as her laugh, at least.

"I envy you. Some of my colleagues hate you, but it's based on envy. On your higher purpose. Your nobility. Poor doves... trained to a greater way, trained to unravel the universe. You can be proud of that. You really can, in a way we... simply can't."

Her eyes dimmed.

"...all gone, of course. The world creeps in and rushes around us, and sooner or later we all lose our purposes... and they do, too. The world, I mean. Nothing to be proud of then. All gone. Taken away. Bye-bye greater destiny. Bye-bye enlightenment."

She sagged against a wall, and Carza watched in muted horror as she slowly got her breathing under control - she'd become rather worked up in this short span of time. She shivered, twitched... pinched her nose... then leaned forward with her expression reasserting its cold, practiced neutrality which had intimidated Carza so very much when they first met.

"I'm sorry. For... everything. This included. Apologies. I... suppose I ought to be going. Thank you for your help with the shirt."

Carza nodded nervously. She was... afraid? Maybe? Fear seemed appropriate. No, she was afraid generally, so this wasn't really... it was adding to it, that much was pretty certain, she'd say that... anyway. She backed off. Dressing suddenly seemed less stressful, and she felt less of an urge to chew on her fist while howling in sheer concentrated unadulterated and uncut stress. The shaking in her hands had reduced enough to do everything herself, thankfully. New trousers. New shirt. New chemise, which was... oh, an exercise in wondrousness, even if it involved doing things with terrifying speed to make sure she had nothing involving Hull bursting in once again. Because if he did, she'd have to kill him. It wouldn't be fun, but it'd have to happen. Sadly. Dressed, feeling... less grotty, less gross (but still fairly gross, the heat was intense and she was nervous so she was sweating a fair amount). Needed a bath, desperately, but that could wait. For now. If the steppe didn't have proper cleaning facilities, she was definitely going to hurt people. Urgh. Hull was... uh... asleep. He'd managed to pull on most of his new clothes, but his face was still a swollen purple berry full of blood and pain, and he was very very concussed.

She lunged in quickly.

Still breathing.

...had his chest all exposed, too. Which was gross.

She quickly buttoned up his shirt.

...he needed cufflinks.

Right, had some on him now, and...

Founder, his hair was just a mass of blood... she poured water from a canteen over it, and a second later dug her slender fingers into the dark mass, wincing as her skin turned a dark shade of brown as the blood was slowly released. Wound on his forehead, an ugly gash from when he'd hit one of the walls... scabbed over, but it'd been bleeding freely for a bit. She slowly cleaned around it with an already-filthy handkerchief, which quickly passed into the realms of the entirely unusable. Her tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. If he was concussed, then she had to make sure he wasn't going to do something like... fall asleep in front of a mutant, or while swimming, or something along those lines. Bah.

"Carza?"

Crumbs.

Confidence was the best strategy.

"Yes, Hull?"

"...why are you-"

"Shush."

"...okay?"

She hesitated. No, he looked comfortable now, and...

"Your shirt is fine, you ought to wash your hair more."

"...sure? Can do?"

She walked away very quickly, and heard Hull staggering to his feet and plodding after her. She didn't turn back, largely because her face was twisting in mortification. At least he was fine. At least he was fine. Ugh. The two returned to the front of the temple, where the others were waiting, having soaked their faces in water and cleaned away the worst of their... detritus. Lirana even looked more human... if terrifyingly pale. Shivering like a leaf. Poor thing, she'd killed that drunk who killed Cam, and now she'd killed Kralat... for someone uncomfortable with murder, she seemed to do it a healthy amount. Well, healthy in the sense of frequent, not... anyway. No other connotations. Anthan grinned roguishly, and sheathed his knife. Cage was open. They were stretching their legs at the moment, but they knew the score. And they agreed - willing to go along with whoever promised to get them back to safety. Even if that meant their old boss... who they'd bullied relentlessly in the cage because they blamed her for winding up in there. Carza, hesitantly, murmured to Miss vo Larima, who was checking and rechecking her cuffs with the obsessiveness of the highly strung.

"...claim that you were instrumental in getting them out, I'll back you up. Might make them respect you."

Miss vo Larima smiled slightly.

"I don't think that'll be necessary. But thank you nonetheless."

Anthan clapped his hands, attracting all attention.

"Alright then, ladies, gentlemen..."

Definitely not just a normal veteran, she could tell. Somehow.

"...the way this is going to work is simple. Vo Larima, you take your group and head east. We'll go west. Divide their forces, and all that. Best case, they weaken themselves to the point that they catch none of us. Worst case, one of us gets captured again... but the other gets away. I can accept those odds. My lovely lady here will accompany you, Larima, along with her... uh..."

The woman sighed.

"...sister-wife is the most accurate translation. We find it repulsive as well. Barbaric."

"Right, there we go. Her sister-wife will be accompanying her and your group. She knows some of the paths, should be able to get you back. Sorry, darling."

"...if you don't come back to me safe and sound, I'll haunt you, you little sugar-blossom."

"Not if I haunt you first, darling."

Carza turned away as the two kissed. Messily. And loudly. She was sure that kissing was more delicate than that, why was there so much suction... they were practically trying to eat each other, why would that be remotely attractive? Seemed a recipe for catching something. Ugh. And they were still going, why were- oh, good, it was over. Hoorah.

Anthan grinned even wider. Wretch. Vulgar, lascivious wretch. Plunderer of virtue. Damn him. Damn him and his sharp jaw.

"So... are we all agreed? Move out?"

Nods. Not a single objection. There was no fanfare, they simply gathered up their belongings - what could be carried, at least - and began to move. But not before Miss vo Larima had one last goodbye. She stopped Carza and Hull, and dug around in her single suitcase before she could find... something. Idly, she wondered if she was about to get out a massive bag of salt, which... no, she didn't. But she did extract a small ink-pot from her bag, and a few scraps of paper. She wrote quickly, and passed one slip each to Hull and Carza.

"A little recompense. May I?"

Before either could look at their slips, she had dipped her finger into the ink pot and extended it... the two were uncertain, but, well, it seemed rude to turn her down, and... and she was drawing on their heads. Neat. Carza shivered at the close contact, and Miss vo Larima drew with a slightly shaky finger, something... not especially complex, but it took a few minutes each. Straight lines, sharp edges, nothing curved or soft. And Carza realised what she was doing - the mark of the Court of Salt, the interlocking pentagons forming a fractal snowflake. For a second, she was terrified... but no, just normal ink. She wasn't losing her tattoo, just... gaining another aspect to it that would last until she dunked her head in water and scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed for a solid hour, just to be sure. Her third eye was hers, no-one was allowed to go near it. Miss vo Larima stopped, applied a symbol to Hull... and then bowed very slightly.

"Hereby, I give you the freedom of the Court of Salt. Our halls are your halls. Our friendship is your friendship. Our food is your food. Our drink is your drink. In suitable recompense for the gifts given to us."

She paused, slipping from the ritual formula.

"The slips have a sacred string of words, it... should prove your validity. Thank you, both. Again."

A small smile.

"I'll be sure to arrange that... deal we had. The splitting of profits."

Carza ducked her head quickly.

"Thank you. Really, it's... it's for the city, right?"

"Precisely. For the city."

She smiled... and it was honest. No calculation, no professionalism, she was legitimately just happy to be free, happy to do something good for her home. For a second, Carza thought she understood the woman. And then the mask descended again, and all was ambiguous once more.

"Best of luck."

Hull nodded.

"You too, miss. Thanks for the forehead decoration."

"...well, we did take the idea from your lot, so..."

Carza smiled faintly, and Hull laughed.

"...so... we started the idea, then you inherited it, now it's being combined with the original idea... does this count as cultural inbreeding, Carza?"

Her smile vanished.

"Hull va Trochi, you vulgar little wretch, must you insist on ruining every little moment we have that has any meaning whatsoever? Cultural inbreeding, I never heard-"

"Oh, no, he's quite right. Goodness, he has a very good point. Feels like the Court of Slate in here. Check yourselves for webbed feet when you next stop."

Carza's frown tried to twitch into a smile, and wound up in a strange halfway point.

On the one hand, vulgar.

On the other, vulgar.

And on a third, vestigial hand... actually quite funny.

Drat.