Kyembe the Spirit Killer basked in the sun, leaning on the rail as the ship pulled away from Zabyalla’s harbour. A warm wind blew north, with gulls crying and soaring on its current, and the docks bustled with activity.

He stretched, letting out a great yawn.

There had been no opportunity for sleep the night before, and the fight with the demon had left his whole body sore from his bones to his skin.

On the ship, as nearly always, his inhuman eyes and ears had ensured he was avoided. Sailors laden with cargo went quiet and quickened their steps as they passed. Passengers gave him a wide berth. It looked like it would be a rather lonely voyage to the lands north of the Sea of Gods.

He would mind it not.

His pack, clutched protectively in his arms, lay heavy with coin and jewels. His tattered cloak was long gone and a fine over-robe fell open around him. It was a rich, deep, blue-black with points of white upon it like stars on a night sky, and was fastened about his neck with a golden clasp wrought into a graceful heron. It was the right length, but a little wide.

After all, it had been tailored for a man of similar height, but much broader frame.

Of course, that man would have no need for it anymore.

By the time the sun had risen, the other merchant princes of Zabyalla had stormed Cas’ grounds with their hired armies at their backs. They had no full knowledge of what happened the night before, but they well knew that the veil Cas cast over Zabyalla had been sheared.

They wanted recompense in blood and lucre.

Unfortunately, there had been very little of the former to divide up.

Cas’ guard and servants had taken one look at the state of their master and quickly understood the situation. By the time the merchants arrived, they had looted enough to keep them going for a time then scattered to the winds.

The merchant princes and princesses split the bloated corpse of Cas’ empire amongst themselves and then returned to what they did best. Trade. As for the corpse of the man who would be merchant king, Wurhi had said they were already nailing it to a pole in the great market for the sport of all.

Of his servants, their fate would be their own. Some would no doubt find position with Cas’ former rivals. Some would be swallowed by the bowels of the city. Some would flee Zabyalla altogether. He was sure he’d seen Azar the Sting on this very ship, though the woman had paled and fled too quickly below deck for him to be sure.

Even if it was, it mattered little to him. This was a good day.

Buneb’s followers were growing further distant, he had enough wealth to live extravagantly for months, a villain lay dead, and another of the seemingly endless demons of the world had vanished.

His brow furrowed.

Only a little rat caused him lingering worry.

They had finished settling her debt with the lenders of The Maw - he had gone along to help ensure they tried no treachery - and though her share was vastly depleted, she had enough to keep herself comfortably for some time. When they parted, she’d given him fond farewell then gone off to find a cup of wine. He sighed, idly wondering how she was. No doubt she could care for herself, but she’d saved his life twice and she had been good company.

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“Ah well,” he lamented. “Such is the way of things.”

“The way of what?” a voice said from very close.

“By the stars!” he jumped, whirling around. “Wurhi!?”

“Hello,” the tiny Zabyallan gave him a little wave and a smile that displayed her overbite. “Why do you look so sad for? You’re the one that actually got to keep most of his plunder.”

“What…what are you doing here?!” he demanded.

She made a face, and spit into the water. “Someone tried to knife me a hundred paces from where we parted.”

Kyembe gasped. “No!”

“Then it happened three more times,” she scowled, and spat again.

“No! Why?!”

She sighed, leaning against the rail. “Folk at The Maw saw exactly how much I had left after I settled my and Kashta’s debts and thought it’d look better in their pouches. So, I got to thinking,” Wurhi’s eyes drifted down to the water. “There’s going to be a lot of guards from Cas’ place that’re going to be on the street and probably want my guts for a belt and fur for a cape. The Merchant Princes are going to want me dead because I actually managed to rob Cas of Zabyalla and they don’t want me in their coffers next. And I’m as small as well…” she made a sour face. “A rat. Everyone’s going to take me for an easy mark, especially without Kashta around anymore.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’d never be able to rest! Wouldn’t that be foolish? Everyone else in the city gets to sleep soundly again except for the woman who actually pulled Cas’ damn guts out. Nope. I say that’s camel shit, so I decided that maybe the world can do with some seeing. I was half ready to leave before you came along anyway.”

“Wurhi, I-”

“Hold on, before you say anything,” she turned and fixed him with a piercing look. “You knew, didn’t you? That I was a shapeshifter.”

Kyembe scratched his head. “I suspected something, yes.”

“How?”

“I felt you had a little magic about you,” he smiled. “In many ways.”

Wurhi scoffed. “That tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.”

His smiled widened. “It already has, many times.”

She chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I like women. Though you’re alright, I guess.”

He recoiled in mock injury. “Truly a loss for me! Though your compliment is the sweet balm that dulls the pain.”

“Oh gods, step back for a moment, that line’s gonna have me retching over the rail.”

Now Kyembe laughed and shook his head, but soon grew serious again. “In truth, I suspected it when you found the kitchen with only your nose. I lived in the wilderness for some years and have met many, many people. Anyone can smell cooking food, but finding an empty hearth and cold kitchen by scent alone? That could only be an animal’s deed.”

“Ah,” she laughed ruefully. “That makes sense. You never asked about it. Even after we left Cas’ estate.”

He shrugged. “If you wanted to speak of it, you would have. You do not know me well, so it is not my business to ask.”

“Hehe, well, thanks for that,” she looked at the harbour shrinking into the distance. “My mother said I got it from my father, and devils only know where he got it from,” her eyes grew distant. “I hate doing it, you know. You don’t know agony until your body is ripping itself apart and rebuilding in the time it takes to put on a shirt. I can’t imagine anything being like it. Worse than that, I can’t talk and I start thinking like a damn animal. Last night, all I wanted to do was scamper off to find some warm crack in the earth to burrow and hide in. Nearly couldn’t shake it off.”

“Well, I am happy you did it. It saved us.”

“Yeah, well you did some work too,” she laughed, then she looked at him sidelong. “So, Kyembe of Sengezi, how’s about having a little street rat travel with you until you get tired of her or she finds some other city to burrow into?”

“I would be delighted,” Kyembe smiled widely and laughed a deep, rich laugh that echoed over the waters.

He made a fist, kissed it and extended it toward her.

Wurhi smiled back, kissed her own tiny fist and reached out with it.

The two pressed their knuckles to each other.

Their oath was extended.

Where it would lead, they knew not.

Behind their ship, the busy city of Zabyalla receded into the distance.

That night, it would sleep very well indeed.