Nathan awoke in the cramped comfort of the armchair, one leg sung over its arm, his head rolled to the side. There was an awful crick in his neck and he winced as he gingerly turned it back and forth. Warm, morning sunlight streamed through the open window which also let in a fair breeze. He’d slept in late again. He never slept in late.
He’d had a strange dream last night, but this morning he was having difficulty recalling it. Perhaps he would remember later. It was likely unimportant, anyway.
The assassin got up from his resting place, stretching and yawning, and looked at the already made bed that Cleo had slept in. Big enough for two he reckoned, but he’d rather sleep next to a rabid wolverine. It would be less likely to stab him.
It had been two days now since they had rescued David from the Night Hunt. The boy was alive. But he was cooped up in his room upstairs, shades drawn, not much in the way of conversation or consciousness. Minerva fed him warmed soup with a spoon for each meal but the boy wasn’t eating much. Arnold was beside himself with what to do. He hadn’t opened the tavern at all since, and Nathan or Cleo certainly didn’t know how to help. Avoid garlic?
It was apparently the same thing that had happened to Fallon decades ago. It seemed to Nathan that the best thing for all involved – including David – might just be to put the boy out of his misery, but he certainly wasn’t going to suggest that. He just offered the feeble word of encouragement whenever he could.
That hadn’t stopped Cleo from suggesting it however. Heartless witch.
But the old tavern keep and Minerva were not about to give up on the boy that easily. If they believed David could still have a good, real life, then by all means Nathan was willing to help them.
Nathan tromped down the stairs, boots heavy on the worn wood, and into the main dining area of the tavern. It was polished and clean as if standing ready for the first customers of the day, but no patrons had graced it for a while now. He sat down in his usual chair and scratched at his stubbly chin.
First thing first, he needed to get a razor. He was never much for a beard, although he was certain it would look dashing on him – what didn’t? After that, he decided the next most important item to cross off on his list would be figuring out how to train the Threads. Grow the Threads? Play the Threads?… Whatever. Something to do with magic and abilities and classes. He needed to learn.
He’d spent all of yesterday doing nothing but resting. Well deserved too, he thought. There was something about nearly being killed for several hours straight that really drained a man. But now there were things to be done.
A door creaked and Nathan turned his head. Arnold was leaving the kitchen, dark bags under his eyes, a dark bottle of something in his grip.
“A little early to be drinking,” Nathan said with a weak, joking smile.
“Piss off.” Arnold slumped into the chair beside him. His already gray hair seemed paler still, the lines on his face dug into deep troughs. Nathan had never seen the man in a sorrier state.
“Arnold, I–”
The man cut him off with a glare. He squirmed his jaw, twisting it back and forth like he was gathering up a wad of spit, then swallowed and stared at the table. “You ever lost someone?” he said, his voice not nearly as hard as his demeanor.
Nathan nodded slowly.
“Ever lost someone cause of your fool mistakes?”
Again, he nodded.
“What about breaking a promise? One to someone that meant a whole lot to you? A man who would die for you… did die for you?”
Another nod.
“Then what about all at once?” A glistening of wet appeared in the corner of the man’s eye. Like a drop of rain that was about to herald a coming storm.
Nathan shook his head. “No,” he said, whispering the words. “I haven’t.”
“Then you don’t know all of how I feel right now.” He took a long swig from the bottle of dirty brown liquid, gulping more than once. “You’re young. Life’s hard. There ain’t no such thing as a fuckign happy ending in this world. When you’re young, you believe that life’s got a point, that if you do good, you get good, that there’s something waiting for you at the end of this shit.”
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I know that much more than you realize.
“God, I’m old. You’ve got to learn to take the bad with the good, the shit with the flowers. Cause if you don’t… everything just piles over and over on your back, weighing you down until you can’t even take another step. A lesson I never really took to heart.” He let out a defeated sigh, then turned and stared hard into Nathan’s eyes. “You remember when Fallon was going to trade me for David?”
“I do.” He had been wondering what for, but never felt that the time was right to ask.
Arnold traced a finger along the grain of the wood, scratching it with his nail. He didn’t speak for several moments and Nathan was worried that he had decided to stop speaking entirely. “Well, I’ve got a favor to ask.” He paused again. This was apparently not easy for the man to say. He set down his drink and then ruffled through a pocket in his pants, pulling out a silver key hanging on a length of chord. It didn’t look like much, but Nathan could feel a pressure from it. Like someone using the Threads without a Veil.
“This,” Arnold said, setting the key down on the table. It was long and slender, full of curving lines and sharp points, making it look like it was trying to resemble blades or teeth, and had a red gem set in its hilt. “Is a key.”
“I can see that.” It most certainly was a key.
“But not just any key.” Now they were getting to the good stuff. “A dungeon key. One that we found during our early travels as the founders of Night Hunt. We could have sold it of course or something, but we didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, so we kept it.”
Arnold tapped his fingers across the gnarled wood then took another swig of his drink. “The bad with the good,” he muttered. “It wasn’t that long of a dungeon. Most of the place was a tunnel with a big ol’ crypt thing at the end. But something about it didn’t sit right with all of us. One sniff and we knew there wasn’t anything in that wretched place but undeath.” His eyes hardened for a moment. Alcohol still wafted off his breath. “So, we took the key, locked the place up good and tight, and left it.”
He paused as his tapping grew more frantic, nervous. “Something was in there. Fallon wanted the key cause he believed it could help him. He thought whatever was in that old dungeon could – if not fix him – improve him. And I’m damned sure he’s right. I just never wanted to give him the damn thing. He was rotten to the core since the beginning, it just took me a while to see it. Would’ve used whatever power in there for more personal gain… but David.”
Arnold stopped his tapping and locked eyes with Nathan. The drop of wet in his eye had welled to a glob, moments from bursting and flowing down the man’s cheek. “I can’t go there. I ain’t as strong as I used to be,” he said, sliding the key across the table toward Nathan. “But you and Cleo could. It's been years since I’ve seen the inside of the dungeon, so I ain’t got any idea what could be in there now. But I reckon, from what I’ve seen anyway, that you two can more than handle yourselves.”
Nathan smiled. Cleo would not like the idea of doing this, sticking her neck out again, playing superhero, as she put it. But he could convince her. She’d chased him to the Night Hunt manor afterall.
“Anything you find in there, the rewards, you’re more than welcome to take for yourselves. I only ask one thing… if there’s something in there that can help the boy, bring it back to me.”
“I’ll do it,” Nathan said, snagging the key from the table.
Arnold blinked, surprised. “I haven’t even told you all of the details yet.”
“Well then keep talking.” Nathan smiled. “But if there’s a way I can help the kid, I’ll do my best to do it.”
Yeah, Cleo would be pissed. But damn it felt good to be making his own decisions.
***
“Are you insane?”
Nathan shrugged, a big grin on his face, as he leaned against the doorframe. He’d been waiting for her for quite some time now. She was supposed to have been back hours ago. The look on her face told him that she did not care. “Probably, but you have to admit that it sounds enticing.”
Cleo scowled and pushed past him, back into the tavern. “Enticing.” She huffed. “That’s one word for it.”
“It’s a good opportunity.” Nathan turned to follow Cleo, closing the door behind him with a thud. “Come on, even you can’t deny that. Explore a bit, do some training, get stronger. Maybe we’ll even find magical items or something. Did you find anything in your search of the city?”
Cleo sat down in one of the many wooden chairs scattered about the tavern. There was another at the opposite end of the table she was by, but as Nathan moved to sit in it, she propped her feet up on it. “I did,” she said. Was that a bit of smugness in her voice, or disdain at having to share information with Nathan? “We won’t be starving for opportunity here, that’s for sure.”
Nathan shoved her feet off the chair and sat down in it, giving her a sarcastic grin. She rolled her eyes in return.
“Jobs, tournaments, guilds–”
“We won’t be working for guilds,” Nathan interrupted.
She continued speaking, ignoring him. “–training, researching, stealing. Safe to say there is no shortage of things we could do. Why are you so enamored with the idea of helping Arnold?”
“Cause I feel it’s the right thing to do.” He said the words and Cleo lifted an eyebrow, peering at him with her dark, narrow eyes. He was more surprised than she looked, the words felt natural coming from his lips. “Do things my way.”
Cleo worked her mouth, then let out a long sigh. “I think I like this new version of you even less than the old one. At least I understood the old one.” She pushed back from the table and stood from her chair, walking toward the door to exit.
“Where are you going?” Nathan asked.
“I can’t be having you running off and getting me killed. You said Arnold gave you a map?” She looked back over her shoulder and Nathan nodded, the left side of his mouth turning up in a smile. “We’re going on your little adventure.”