CHAPTER TEN
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Iris Everton
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Octos, 926 PC
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Iris was about two seconds from snatching up her dinner knife and plunging it into Brunson’s skinny neck. She’d told the weasel to leave them alone for one night. One night when she could relive how things were when she and Jameson had first met. One night to clear her mind. Lords, had she been scatterbrained and stressed, completely spontaneous at times. But, as a man like Brunson does, he broke his promise and followed them to Penelope’s Place, popping up like a weed you just can’t get rid of. The sound of her fork tapping the table caught Jameson’s attention but his business partner’s thin lips kept moving, his thin fingers kept twiddling.
Brunson was all three kinds of man her father had always warned her about. He said one thing but meant another. He didn’t understand the word no. And he dressed nicer than his lifestyle would suggest. By that standard, Brunson should have been wearing nothing but a loincloth, but instead, he was in a cloak nicer than anything she owned and black leather gloves that a king would have a hard time turning down. His brown hair was slicked back, presumably so his parchment-thin body could slide through cracks even easier.
“Come on, Wick. Mateo has it all planned out. Foolproof,” Brunson said, talking with his hands like he so often did. He looked across the table at a burly man Iris had never seen before. “And Yormir’s in. You love Yormir.” He turned to Iris. “Who doesn’t love Yormir Huff?!” His beady eyes looked expectant of confirmation but all Iris gave him was a sarcastic shrug.
“Hard not t’love a man like me,” Yormir said in a deep growl. Yellow teeth contrasted his black beard when he smiled. She was surprised not to see a few gaps between them. He took a drink of the half-full ale he’d scooped up from the table next to them. There had been no objections from the polite old man.
Brunson lifted Wicket’s mug. “Two days. One to get it. One to get rid of it. In and out and we’ll be done, just like you’re used to.” His grin almost made her gag.
“Does look awfully appealing, Wick. And you know Mateo. Doesn’t get in unless there’s a good chance of getting out. Sounded t’me like he’s drawn up every detail, right down to the freckles.” The Old Wolf, that’s what Jameson had called the burly man when he’d sat down with them. He was something to behold. Half man, half animal it seemed. His burned orange eyes like a wolf glowed in the torchlight. He had thick brown hair on his head, bushy eyebrows and a beard with two braids in it that only used a small portion of the hair that dangled from his chin. His fingernails were longer than her own and dirtier than Jameson’s. Most unpleasantly though, he smelled of smoke like he’d been born in it.
Every day it seemed, Jameson would reveal another questionable thing about his life. She hadn’t met his lackeys, as he’d put it, for several weeks, but now she couldn’t escape them. Or the crimes they conducted with alarming regularity. Each night, after Jameson would start snoring, she’d open her eyes and stare at the ceiling, wondering how she could get away from him and what they’d done to Ceralline. Each morning, she’d wake up with a plan but Jameson would quickly wave it away with a kiss and his beautiful blue eyes. Shallow, she could recognize that, but lords be damned she couldn’t break the habit. Sometimes she found herself not even wanting to. Something about him scratched an itch she didn’t know she had. One her father had put a cream on each day with his rigid morality and discipline.
Jameson put a hand on Brunson’s shoulder. “Reckon I can’t thank ya enough for inviting me on your suicide mission, but I think I’ll pass.”
The weasel was shocked to be turned down by the one man he thought he could count on for anything. “Not a suicide mission, Wick. A life changing opportunity. Don’t you see? Thousands and thousands of Leos for each of us.” This brought a smile to Yormir’s face but Jameson held firm.
“And without me there’s even more for the two of ya.” As annoyed as Iris was by the whole thing, she was proud of Jameson. At least she thought she was. There was no telling if he’d be singing the same tune when Brunson inevitably came around again. Most likely when her frown wasn’t there to persuade Jameson. So real business could be conducted.
Yormir burped, making no effort to hide it or cover his mouth, then said, “Can’t argue with that Brun.”
Brunson stood up, looking downright disgusted, almost vengeful, as he shoved the chair in angrily. “See if I ever keep your best interests in mind again.”
“That’s what ya call this,” Jameson said, grinning at Yormir. There was history between the two, she could tell. She didn’t like that she’d hadn’t heard about The Old Wolf before tonight.
As Yormir stood to follow Brunson, he sniffed the air. “Stew and chicken?” She could smell the stew herself, but there was not even the faintest scent of chicken in the crowded pub.
“Aye,” Jameson said.
“Ah. Penny makes a good stew.” He lumbered past Jameson, patting his shoulder along the way. “See ya, Wick.”
“Stay safe, big fella.” Yormir wandered off after a steaming Brunson, plucking a handful of something from a woman’s plate on the way out.
The redheaded owner approached their table shortly after, sitting a bowl of stew in front of Jameson and a lovely plate of chicken and vegetables in front of Iris. “Evening Wicket. I see you’ve brought your better half with you.” She smiled at Iris, making it clear she remembered her.
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Jameson was already shoveling stew into his mouth. He wiped his lips with his curled fist. “I’d bring her in more if she could stay outta that lab over at the school.”
Impressed, Penelope raised her brow. “You attend the university? I considered that path before I ended up here.”
The short speech she’d prepared for moments like these started running through Iris’ mind.
“Aye. Reckon she’d live there if they’d let her,” Jameson said, dipping his spoon into his stew. “I barely see her.” She opened her mouth to brag on herself but stopped. “Damn good stew, Penelope. Wish I could make something this tasty.”
And with that, Penelope smiled and left them to their meals. Iris watched her go, words dangling on the tip of her tongue.
Jameson’s bowl was empty by the time Iris finally took her first bite of her juicy chicken. He reached over and plucked a potato from her plate, making a horrible face at the heat of the vegetable. “Son of a bitch.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as he waved his hand back and forth in front of his mouth, head shaking.
“Who is Yormir?” she asked when he finally cooled down.
He took another potato, smashing it with his spoon this time to release the heat. “Old buddy. Grew up together.”
“Purist?”
“Aye.”
How many Purists are walking around these city streets looking like commoners? “What’s he capable of?” She had decided to make it a habit of knowing what a Purist could do with his or her magic after she witnessed Jameson’s charm in action.
“Best sniffer in the empire,” Jameson said, chewing on his potato. “How’s the chicken?”
She pushed her plate across the table to him. She’d had plenty. Which for her was very little. “He can smell things?” Useful for a group of men like Jameson and his colleagues.
“Aye. That’s what a sniffer does.” He chomped down on a piece of chicken. “Mmm. Penelope’s a genius.”
“Brunson has him on his payroll then?” He shook his head and pointed to his own chest as he gnawed on the chicken. “And who is Mateo?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do you work with him?”
“I did, but he’s dead. Whoever those fools are workin’ with ain’t Mateo.”
Iris was stunned that he wouldn’t warn his friends. Then she wondered if lackeys were their leader’s friends or not. “Shouldn’t you warn them?”
Jameson lowered his fork but didn’t set it down. “Not right now, Iris. It’s our night out.” He grinned, knowing he was using her own words against her. Juices glistened on his chin as food flopped back and forth in his mouth. “Besides, if they haven’t heard Mateo was killed, they deserve whatever comes to ‘em. Only thing anyone’s talkin’ about in the pubs.” He went back for another piece of chicken before finishing the previous one, like a dog that couldn’t get its fill. And yet, her sex drive boiled over like an unwatched beaker. Like it often did when she looked at him.
She ran her foot up the inside of his leg. “Eat quickly.”
He grinned.
*~~~**~~~*
She dropped her Hot Rocks on the desk at the front of the laboratory and sat down. Alone. No one else would arrive for at least twenty minutes. The excitement of a Friday morning experiment buzzed in her mind as she double checked all the equipment and alchemicals. She ran through the few possibilities that Master Rellin could teach a group of first years; simple poisons, weak medicines. Perhaps he’d give a test. She enjoyed tests. They had a tendency to reinforce her position atop the class. This led her to contemplate all the advanced concepts she was studying on her own in the Hall of Histories. She had worked up a light sweat on her forehead before she knew it.
When the door finally opened two male students she hadn’t yet gotten acquainted with came wandering in, books under their arms, grins on their faces. They sat down as far from her as possible. She’d noticed the other students played a bit of a game; don’t get stuck sitting with Iris. She didn’t care. None of them would change the world. More students strolled in two and three at a time. Groups of friends, laughing and smiling. She didn’t care, laughing didn’t change the world. A few friends might make it easier though.
She was still alone at her desk when Master Rellin finally wandered into class five minutes late, holding a square chest not much bigger than his own head. Her eyes followed the box the entire way to the front of the room. The tardy alchemist sat it down and positioned himself behind the workbench closest to her. She sat up straight, waiting for the room to quiet down and Master Rellin to speak.
“Good morning,” he said when the last of the whispers died.
“Good morning, Master Rellin,” Iris said. Alone. She could feel the eyes behind her glaring. She didn’t care. Not that much.
Master Rellin smiled, two rows of perfectly white teeth gleaming. “Good morning, Iris.” He turned his focus to the rest of the class. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Thank you all for coming.” The latch on the box clicked open. He put his hands on either side of the box. The tip of his beard tickled its top. “I have something important to introduce you to this morning.” The corner of Iris’ mouth curled slightly. “You would not normally receive such an opportunity as first years but since some of you have been doing such a great job”–he looked at Iris– “I thought I’d make the fifth years wait their turn this time.” He placed both hands on the lid of the box and opened it carefully. Iris leaned to the side, hoping to spot what was inside before anyone else. No luck. “This”–he lifted his hands– “is a human skull.” Two, empty eye sockets stared at Iris. The skull’s jaw hung open like it was somehow more shocked than the students. Not possible if the gasps and mutters were any indication. “Settle down, settle down.” Master Rellin sat the skull on the table, closing its jaw tight. She could see now that much of the back of the skull was missing. “Quiet,” he said, regaining control of his laboratory. “Now, if you can maintain the confidentiality that the City Guard has asked of us, this project will remain with the first years. Blabber on about it and I will find tighter lips to help me with the task I’ve been assigned.”
“What task?” Iris asked. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach had already formed.
“I’ve been asked to devise a way to determine who killed this poor young woman.” He looked directly at Iris as he said, “And I’d like your help.”
“How’d she die?” a young man asked from the back.
“A terrible fall,” Master Rellin said.
Iris gulped down her disbelief. Your bad luck just finds you.