“Okay, wait, wait. Let me get this all straight-like. Yer gonna go up to Red Stride Canyon an’ kill all th’ bandits. You.” Epitus’ eyebrows were drawn together. Askles could almost hear his thoughts turning in his skull. He imagined it’d sound like a water wheel.

The taverna was busy for the time of day. Nearly all the tables were full, but not with his fellow countrymen: they were all Eirian. Lukios, now that his hair was dark, blended right in. The owner was a large, swarthy man with a bulbous nose and broad smile, and Askles could see him wandering between tables, chatting with his regulars and clapping them on the back. He was conversing with a very solid-looking fellow now, one with a beard streaked with grey; he said something, and the owner tilted his head back and guffawed.

Askles shovelled more of the…kaleh pacheh, which was a sort of meaty soup with sheep feet and vegetables, into his mouth. He dipped flatbread and wolfed that down too.

It was good. Hearty vegetables, meaty broth, and some…what was that spice? ‘Kles had never tasted anything so strange before, but it was tasty, and it sat on his tongue just right.

“Well, not by myself, obviously. I was thinking more like…us! And some other guys.” Lukios had on his most winsome smile. “But mostly us.”

“No.” Askles’ voice had gone flat. “I’m retired and I’m gettin’ married. I’m gonna raise some ‘orses and eat lots o’ fish.” He gave Lukios a very pointed look. “Dead men can’t do shit. No.”

“Oh come on, ‘Kles! You know you want to stab some bandits. They go squish and they scream! Then they die. You know you want to.”

“That’s not th’ problem,” he snapped back, and he set his spoon down before he bent it. He didn’t have the coin to replace it. “It’s not th’ part where I kill the bandits, Lucky. It’s the part where they kill me, ‘cause there’s a fort full of them and three o’ us. Get it?” He slapped the bench. “It’s called doin’ numbers. You should try it.”

And ‘Kles had only one eye, which came with a blind spot big enough to ride a chariot through.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

Pitie was strangely silent, fingers on his chin.

Oh no.

“’Pitie. Say no. Tell Lucky no.” ‘Kles turned back to Lukios. “We can’t go up there. You’ll die. For real. Us too.”

“’ow much?”

“’Pitie!”

Epitus ignored him. “’ow much a head?”

Lukios looked positively gleeful. “Glad you asked! Ten drachma per head, plus loot.”

Epitus’ eyes widened. “We can keep th’ loot?”

“After the city takes its cut, yeah. We can divvy what’s left.”

Epitus mouthed, fuck, though he didn’t actually say it. He seemed stunned by the monstrous sum.

“’Pitie. You’ll be too dead to spend it.”

“No, I won’. Lucky’s real lucky, and he’s got a plan.” He nodded to Lukios. “You have ‘un, right? A plan?”

Lukios nodded. “Yup. Sent three messengers and everything this morning. Gonna do some light local recruiting, too.”

Epitus leaned over, looking like a hound after a rabbit. “Yeah? Your old guys?”

“Yeah. The Pride rides again—maybe.” Lukios was grinning so hard it looked painful. “Told Aristos to bring the banners and everything.”

“Fuck. That’s—that’ll work.” Pitie was nodding along now, but ‘Kles was shaking his head, his dream lodged in his head: sand and vultures.

Now he knew what that meant. This was gonna be a disaster.

“No, it won’t. Lukios! That fort’s stacked. It’s full o’ fuckin’ deserters. Let’s say ‘alf the Pride comes back. Tha’s barely a quarter o' an ekato and we’ll be fightin’ in close quarters. In a fuckin’ canyon. No. We’ll get real damn dead. It’ll be like stabbin’ fish in a barrel. You’ve lost your damn mind!”

Lukios’ expression of glee only intensified, and Askles stared, horrified by the thought that he really had gone mad. Sun mad, sand mad. Witch mad.

Insane. Lukios had gone insane.

“No, no, no, we’re not going in hot. That’s the beauty of it. They want ransom in goods, right? Lots of goods? How do you transport goods, ‘Kles?” He was rubbing his hands like a wine merchant on Dionysia.

Oh. Oh. That clever little shit. “Fuck me. You’re serious?”

“Hard pass,” Lukios said, still sounding exceptionally cheerful, “but otherwise? Perfectly serious!”

“Wha’? Wha’s th’ plan?” Epitus’ accent had thickened, which was a sure sign of frustration. “You gonna speak sense or—”

A table crashed against the wall, splintering. Someone screamed; there was a loud, raucous laugh as the trio turned their heads toward the noise as one.

“So sorry, sirs! Shop’s closed! Out you go!” There was a big, burly man standing near the entrance of the taverna, hands on his narrow hips. He was barrel-chested, with a thick, slicked beard the colour of charring wood. Behind him were four more men of varying sizes: a youthful man with barely a hint of fuzz on his chin; a tall, stocky one who looked like he could plow a field on his own; a big man—bigger than Lukios, even—with an obvious slave-brand on his cheek; and a skinny little guy who reminded ‘Kles strongly of a mutt—his hair stood in tufts. They took up some serious space.

‘Kles eyed their cloaks. There were bulges.

Fuckers were armed. It was impossible to tell through the fabric, but he doubted they had anything bigger than a xiphos.

Hm, no. Muttman had something longer—but not long enough to be a spear.

People had stopped eating to stare, clearly shocked. A few men stirred—the only other Illosians—and then stood quietly and walked toward the door. The burly man and his party only smiled genially and moved so they could squeeze past.

“Well? The rest of you sirs gonna go quiet-like, or…?” And then he said something in Eirian. Several somethings.

‘Kles glanced at his friends. Pitie’s brows were drawn together in confusion, but Lukios still had a mild smile on his face, like some guys hadn’t just busted in and trashed a table.

Slowly, the other customers began to file out, ducking past the men and out the door, throwing sorry glances at the owner whose face had gone bloodless. The owner finally roused himself and muttered something to the serving girl—and judging by that nose, she was his daughter—and she tried to slink away, but it was too late: Chinfuzz lunged and grabbed her by the hair.

She shrieked, but the men only laughed; the one holding her smacked her breast and squeezed. She screamed even louder, and that led to another round of mirth.

Well, for her sake, ‘Kles hoped she liked fucking, ‘cause it was clear she was gonna be doing lots of it soon.

The owner’s eyes had gone round, and ‘Kles could see he was about to panic; it was obvious that when he did, there’d be blood. These were fighting men, and the plump, broad Eirian was not.

“Baba!” She was already crying.

The taverna had nearly emptied. There was another table of Eirians, and ‘Kles recognized the stocky man with the graying beard—he was the one who had made the owner laugh. He was giving the intruders a hard, unflinching stare.

He and his party were still here, and they weren’t moving. This was a standoff.

Aw, fuck.

“Keydhi,” Greybeard said, and his voice was flat and cold.

“Neva!” This Keydhi, the one with the wood-char beard, was clearly the ringleader. He smiled widely, showing a gap in his front teeth, and held his arms wide. There was a string of Eirian.

“Pitie. Lucky.” ‘Kles kept his voice quiet. They hadn’t been spotted yet, thanks to their odd spot just at the end of the counter. The doorway sighted down the stone countertop, which meant the trio had partial cover. But it wouldn’t last for long if these gangsters—because this was clearly some kind of turf war—had any smarts at all.

Whatever this was, they didn’t want to get caught in it. It was stone-sucker business, and if it spilled into the street, it was guard business. Beyond that?

It wasn’t any of their business.

Lukios relaxed on his stool and put another piece of sheep in his mouth. “Damn,” he said to ‘Kles, very casually, “you don’t get kaleh pascheh this good just anywhere.”

“Lucky,” ‘Kles hissed, but Lukios only kept smiling and eating.

“’Kles,” said Pitie, nice and low, “I’m thinkin’ they’re gangsters.” He was frowning, expression serious. “Tha’ means they’re criminals,” he added helpfully, and ‘Kles barely refrained from smacking himself on the forehead.

“Yes, Pitie,” ‘Kles ground out, whispering, “they’re gangsters. An’ we’re leavin’. Ain’t our problem.”

“Don’t be silly, ‘Kles,” said Lukios. “We’ll stay ‘til we’re done.” He smiled at them very peacefully. Pitie blinked, then shrugged and continued eating.

…Fuck. They were both insane.

In the meanwhile, the argument in Eirian had gotten worse and worse, and ‘Kles could hear the manners drop from their tone. The girl was bawling, but she was already being dragged away while her da pleaded; there was no mistaking the begging.

“Oi!”

Aw, fuck. They’d been spotted.

“Good sirs. Last time. Get out.” The gangsters were no longer smiling.

Lukios put his elbow on the table and beamed at them. “But we ain’t done.” And then there was a string of Eirian.

The ringleader—Keydhi—laughed. It was not an amused laugh. It was more a “we’re-gonna-gut-you-fuckers-and-eat-your-eyes” kinda laugh, and ‘Kles shifted his weight to the right, shooting Lukios a glare.

Lukios only smiled widely like an idiot and laughed along, like he’d been dropped too many times on the head as a babe to count.

That fucker.

The gangsters glanced at each other, shrugged, and drew their weapons—

—just as the trio exploded into action, moving as one.

Pitie had been sitting with his back to the wall, with ‘Kles to his right and Lucky to his left. Lukios lunged from his chair, ducking and rolling into the common area, and Pitie picked up the plate of sheep’s feet and flung the damn thing across the room. It was a heavy plate, deep and made of thick metal with thin edges, but that hadn’t been the point at all; the point had been to let Lukios roll to the left as ‘Kles darted to the right. He dashed behind the counter and all the way down to the stovetops for a weapon.

“For th’ fifth!” Pitie hollered, and he grabbed the little carving knife from the table—then kicked the whole thing at the charging thugs.

The table sailed up and forward, top an oversized shield and battering ram both. Food, plates, and cutlery flew everywhere as the gangsters swore and scattered, but Pitie never paused, and neither did ‘Kles; the one-eyed veteran lunged toward the grill and took a heavy saucepan in hand, still full of hot oil. He could feel the heat of the metal even through the leather strips around the handle.

When he looked up, he saw Chinfuzz leap onto the counter to jump on him, short sword in hand. There was a wide, bloodthirsty grin splitting his face as he bore down on ‘Kles, whooping in Eirian.

‘Kles flung the oil right up into the dumb fuck’s face.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Chinfuzz screamed, dropping his short sword as the oil hit him. He fell to the ground, clutching his ruined face, writhing, and ‘Kles raised the saucepan and brought it down. It met the screaming man’s head with a sharp crack and he went completely silent, twitching. ‘Kles brought the hot pan down again, and Chinfuzz’s skull caved and his flesh sizzled. Then ‘Kles brought the skillet down again, so hard that bits of bone and brain splattered everywhere.

The body stopped twitching.

“Fuck!” ‘Kles hadn’t angled himself right, and now his chiton—his only clean chiton—was covered in bits of gangster.

Hermeíēs' balls! How was he gonna go see Chloe later? She’d—

The air whistled, and ‘Kles jumped back just in time.

A truly nasty club with nails on the end whooshed past, so close that he felt the breeze ruffle his hair. Muttman took in his dead friend and swore, then threw himself over the counter with a war cry.

‘Kles sidestepped and knelt, taking Chinfuzz’s short sword from the floor. He didn’t rise upwards. He lunged forward instead, timing it just right, and the sword slid nice and smooth into the thug’s gut.

Muttman let out a surprised little gasp as the end sunk in. The club he’d had clenched in both hands, raised high above his head to take ‘Kles’ noggin off, clattered to the floor.

The short sword sunk in easy, easier than ‘Kles had expected; it was sharp, and well-maintained. Askles went right against the dying man, holding his opponent in what looked like a hug between friends, but really, he was just wrenching the blade in deeper. A xiphos was short. He needed to work it in to kill a man.

Muttman struggled, at first with strength, but then weaker and weaker, each attempt to pull away only driving the blade deeper; once it hilted, ‘Kles twisted and pulled.

The gangster stumbled backwards, hands clutching his guts, expression stupefied as he tried to push his organs back in. Red streamed over his hands and tunic, splashing thickly on the floor. He was making little gasping, choking sounds, blood bubbling out of his mouth. ‘Kles reached over and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him forward, then slit his throat. Arterial blood sprayed, and the man—well, boy, really—clutched his throat with his shining, slippery hands as he crumpled to the floor, eyes wide and gleaming with tears as he stared and stared. Eventually, the light in his eyes dimmed and went dull, glassy with death.

Them’s the breaks, kid. Hope you got a coin fer the ferryman.

‘Kles took a deep breath, then straightened, just in time to get sprayed in even more bits of gangster as Lukios smashed Fieldplow’s head right into the edge of the stone countertop. The upper half of his skull simply popped off, and ‘Kles grimaced in annoyance as he wiped bits of brains off his now completely ruined clothes.

“Watch it, Lucky!”

“Sorry, ‘Kles! I’ll buy you a new one!” Lukios didn’t stop moving, twirling and tossing the dead body right into Slavebrand’s short sword. The bigger man was only staggered for a second, but it was a second too long; Lukios jumped onto a table, grabbing a stool with his right hand as he went. He tossed it into his left hand in one smooth motion, catching the leg, and brought the edge of the wooden seat down to crush his opponent’s skull.

Slavebrand blocked it with his dead friend, staggering backwards; he shrugged the stool off with a booming cry, and the piece of furniture hit the ground with a thunk, rolling away. The gangster tossed the dead body aside with a laugh, lunging forward to gut the pesky interloper on the table—

But of course, Lucky was already gone.

Slavebrand bellowed in pain, lurching backwards, free hand clutching the carving knife now lodged in his left side. Blood streamed as Lukios appeared right beside the other Eirian, as if by magic.

That was the trouble with shield-cover: visibility. He’d never even noticed Lukios get down to stab him.

Lucky was tricky like that.

Slavebrand was big, though. He took it like a fucking champ, except by now ‘Kles had hopped over the counter and stuck his stolen short sword into the man’s kidney, twisting; the man roared in pain, and ‘Kles yanked it out. Naturally, Slavebrand reeled away from ‘Kles, which meant he reeled into Lukios, who simply pulled his knife free; he drew it out in one smooth, flowing motion, then stabbed again, though this time—

It went right in Slavebrand’s eye.

The thug screamed, sounding like a pig getting slaughtered and jerking away, but Lukios only bore down on him, pitiless as a statue of Dános himself.

Slavebrand’s sword dropped to the ground with a clatter as the big man tried desperately to get away, all instinct now. He nearly barrelled backwards into ‘Kles, who promptly grabbed Slavebrand’s head and shoved it deeper down the blade; he only stopped when Lukios grunted as his arm was jarred by a jagging resistance.

They pushed together as the big man flailed, trying to shove them away and run, but ‘Kles and Lukios weren’t small, either; they gripped him tight and Lukios pushed the knife in so deep he nearly lost the hilt.

When ‘Kles and Lukios pulled away, the large Eirian dropped to the ground, dead.

They turned to watch Pitie kick Char-beard onto the floor, dropping a broken and bloody stool and breathing easy, like he’d just come in from a stroll.

The ringleader was missing half his face.

Yeah, he was dead. Real dead.

“Just one?” ‘Kles snickered, but Pitie only shrugged.

“You’re fine. Don’ whine at me, ‘Kles.”

Pitie dusted his hands then looked around. Lukios only laughed his wild little laugh, eyes bright from battle. ‘Kles knew he had the same damn look, though Pitie only seemed surly and bored.

The owner was pressed against the far wall with an expression of open terror, his daughter laying limp in his arms. She’d fainted, or something. When he met ‘Kles’ stare he flinched and looked down.

Lukios raised his arms in a very peaceful manner. “Uh…sorry about the mess. Guess that escalated, huh?” He gave a sheepish little laugh.

“It is not a little mess. You have made it worse. So much worse.” And then there was a string of angry Eirian. It hadn't come from the owner, no. It had come from the corner.

The man with the greying beard—Neva—and his boys stepped between them and the owner and his girl, arms crossed over his chest. Now that ‘Kles was paying attention, it occurred to him that the two men he’d been with weren’t men at all—they were boys. Or more accurately, youths, just on the cusp of manhood. He doubted they could even grow out a beard.

Their foreheads and chins were all suspiciously alike.

…Were they really gangsters too?

“N-Neva.” The owner swallowed hard, but continued. “Do not. This is well. Do not a-annoy these…fine sirs.” He smiled weakly at them. “So sorry, but we will close and have doctor come for daughter.”

In other words: fuck off.

Neva was shaking his head. “No.” Then he switched to Eirian, and they had a hushed, angry conversation until Lukios broke in, also in Eirian. This did not seem to help. The owner could not bring himself to meet Lukios’ eyes, but this “Neva” didn’t seem to have a problem with glaring or smarting off.

“Fuck. This is Illos. Talk proper or don’ talk at all.” Pitie was in a temper, but ‘Kles couldn’t blame him. They’d risked their lives to keep that little girl from—if ‘Kles had his guess—getting sold over daddy’s debts, so maybe they oughta be more grateful and start speaking sense.

“It’s real rude to pretend we ain’t here.” Askles shot Lukios a glare to make sure he knew he was included. And Pitie was right. Stone-sucker taverna or not, this was Illos. They could speak Illosian or fuck right off.

“Fine s-sirs, do not mistaken understanding! This is very stress situation, yes?” The plump man was clutching his daughter tightly. That probably wasn’t so good for her to get squeezed so much.

Neva clearly liked to get to the point. He raised his hand, glancing at his friend, then nodded at each of them in turn. “Very well. I will be blunt. These men were members of Faravahar. You have killed them. The guild will place the blame on us and send more members. Then we will die. Thank you for killing us.” The sarcasm bled through his thick accent.

“What, ya wanted us t’ let ‘em thrash ya?” Pitie didn’t sound happy. “Ungrateful fucks.”

Lukios sighed. “Pitie. You’re scaring them.”

“Good.”

Now it was ‘Kles’ turn. “Go to the guard, then. ‘Less you can’t. Didn’t keep your noses clean, didja?” Why wouldn’t a law-abiding citizen go to the guard right away? Or use a real moneylender rather than a black market one?

‘Cause they couldn’t. ‘Cause they were dirty too.

Fucking stone-suckers. Sometimes ‘Kles wondered how Lucky had grown up so proper, but the answer was obvious: he’d been raised in Illos, by proper Illosians.

Neva’s hard stare moved from Lukios to Askles. “We have already tried. They demanded a bribe and did nothing.” He spat on the ground and Lukios gripped Pitie’s arm to keep him from jumping forward to rearrange the man’s face. “Your people love the word ‘justice.’ But only the word.”

“Oh, fuck you. Go on an’ kill each other, then. Or run back t’ where you came from if you ‘ate it ‘ere so damn much.” ‘Kles rolled his eyes and flipped them off. “Let’s go. Let ‘em sort ‘emselves out.”

Pitie was nodding, but Lukios said nothing. Instead, he knelt by the ringleader’s body and turned it over, then made a little nick in the fabric with his carving knife. Then he ripped the shirt in half.

“What the fuck? Lucky, what in Hā́idēs are you doin’?” ‘Kles was baffled.

Lucky ignored him. He slit the tunic open and looked.

There was a very big tattoo on his back. It looked kinda familiar, though ‘Kles couldn’t place where he’d seen it. It was a bearded man in a dress circled by a snake biting its tail. Wings stretched from the snake on either side. It looked real silly, but it clearly meant somethin’, ‘cause no man would choose to stick something so ugly and permanent on his back otherwise.

Lucky was silent, staring at it for a long time. Finally, he stirred, taking the coin pouch and tossing it onto the floor.

‘Kles sighed, half-tempted to just take the bag. They were a bunch of ungrateful fuckers, anyway. Why give ‘em anything when it was the three of them who had risked their lives?

“’Kles. Pitie. Check the other guys.” Pitie and ‘Kles glanced at each other, then shrugged. Well, fine, but he wasn’t giving the coin away. No way. They were keeping at least one bag each.

Neva and the owner watched them all silently, not moving or speaking. Once he was done, Lukios sat staring at the collection of tattooed backs, expression unreadable.

“How long?”

‘Kles blinked. Lucky sounded real serious.

“It has been years. I do not know. I only came here five years ago.” Neva shrugged.

“Where from?”

“Heliopolis.”

Lukios was silent again. “You know where the guild office is?”

“Lucky!” Had he gone barkin’?

Neva and the owner glanced at each other. The greying man looked at his boys—his sons, obviously—and murmured something. They nodded and went to the owner, who gingerly handed his daughter to their care. They muttered to each other in Eirian, then the boys were off, disappearing into the back room. They heard footsteps going upward.

“Everyone knows where the guild office is.” This was Neva. He walked to a corner table and sat. The owner disappeared into the backroom then returned with an amphora of wine and cups.

“This is serious talk now, yes? Better to sit and drink like men.” The owner gestured to where Neva was seated.

Lukios nodded, glancing over at Pitie and ‘Kles.

The two Lofians exchanged a look. Lucky had gone crazy, but it wouldn’t do to let him die for real. He had to come to ‘Kles’ wedding, didn’t he?

They sat.

“I am Mahdi.” The owner set the cups down and poured out wine. “I am here longer than friend Neva—” and here, Neva nodded very seriously, confirming his words “—but I not know when Faravahar here began hurting…our people. They only work in this quarter. I think. Perhaps I am wrong.”

Neva leaned forward, staring intently at Lukios. “You are from Heliopolis? Or perhaps Astropolis?”

“Heliopolis.”

Neva nodded like this was expected. ‘Kles and Pitie looked at each other again.

This shit was getting too weird.

“Look.” ‘Kles leaned forward on the table too. “You two better start talkin’ straight. From the beginning an’ all. ‘Cause I don’t care ‘bout gangsters at all, no matter where y’all are from. Criminals are criminals, and if you went black market, well. Tha’s no one’s fault but yours.” He shrugged.

Neva and Mahdi looked at each other and laughed.

It was not a very amused laugh. It was real cynical and jaded, like they knew something ‘Kles didn’t. It got his back up.

Lukios rubbed the back of his head and let out an embarrassed little chuckle. Then he excused himself, slung his arms around Pitie and ‘Kles, and hauled them out of earshot.

“’Kles. Pitie.”

“The fuck is this, Lucky?” ‘Kles wrinkled his nose. The dead guys stunk. They needed to do something about the bodies.

“They criminals too? Lucky? ‘Kles?” Pitie only sounded confused. “Thought they were gettin’ bullied. Weren’t they?”

Lukios opened his mouth, then closed it. After a beat, he finally spoke. “Yeah, Pitie. I’m thinking…you’re more right than you know. ‘Kles, stop being a dick.”

“I am not!”

“You don’t know they went black market, ‘Kles. And I don’t think they did. Faravahar doesn’t operate like this. Not in Heliopolis. That’s not what they do.”

‘Kles turned his head to stare. What? “Lucky. You know these guys?”

He shook his head. “No. Faravahar is…it’s like a, uh, spirit. That’s the name of a spirit or something that looks after you. At least it is in Eir. And back when um…you know those riots when we were kids?”

Pitie and ‘Kles looked at each other and shook their heads. “No riots in Lofos, Lucky. You city boys are crazy.”

Lukios laughed quietly. “Right. Anyway. That’s where they started. To protect Eirian homes from rioters. ‘Cause they got targeted extra. Get it? They’re like uh…guardians for Eirians here. In Illos. Sort of.” Lukios hesitated, and ‘Kles could see he wasn’t saying the whole truth.

Pitie was scrunching up his face. “But tha’ makes no sense. We already have the guard. Why do they need different ones?”

“Lucky.” Askles glared, and Lukios smiled a little uneasily. Oh yeah, he definitely wasn’t sayin’ something.

“Well, it’s complicated. I mean, you’re right. They got some dirty money. But they don’t do…stuff like this. Normally. So this is real weird.”

“So they’re bad guys? Or…they’re…?” Pitie was looking more and more confused, not less.

“That’s what I wanna find out, Pitie. It’s…look. The way they work in Heliopolis is…yeah, they have some dirty money, but they don’t go around trashing Eirian businesses. Actually, they don’t go around trashing shops at all, ‘cause that’s the fastest way to get noticed and…obviously, if you got some dirty money, you don’t want eyes on you. Get it?”

“No.” Pitie frowned. “But Lucky, how’d you know this stuff? You in trouble again?”

“Uh…no. I mean, if you’re from Eir and you live in Heliopolis, you always know this stuff. And…I got some help, once. Was a long while ago.” He went silent. “I don’t talk to them anymore, so don’t make that face, ‘Kles. Seriously. I was just in a tight spot once and got help. That’s all.”

“So you’re sayin’ the Fava…Fafa…Fa…gang guys ain’t followin’ their own rules?” Pitie’s face hadn’t un-scrunched at all.

“I think so, yeah.” Lucky paused. “It’s real strange. I don’t think…if the guys who run Heliopolis knew, I think…” He shrugged. “Well, it’s been over ten years. Guess they could’ve changed.”

“I don’t like this. I’m serious, Lukios. I don’t like this. At all.” And Askles needed another bath and a change of clothes. This was disgusting, and he couldn’t meet Chloe like this. She’d run, ‘cause aside from being sweet an’ pretty, she was real sensible.

He couldn’t walk down the streets like this, either. How come he was the only one that had gotten all bloody? Gods damn.

“Aw, come on, ‘Kles. It’s a mystery that’s begging to be solved! Also…you don’t want them to tell the guard the truth, right? I mean…we killed five guys. Not only are we gonna get questioned, we’re gonna have to explain it to Niki. You wanna tell Niki why we killed five guys?”

‘Kles felt his blood run cold. Oh fuck. That was right. Neva and Mahdi were witnesses. It’d be fine if they said it was a bar fight, but…what if the three of them pissed the two Eirians off so bad they squealed “Murder! Murder! It was all murder!”?

“But why would they lie?” Pitie, of course. “I’m sayin’…they were gonna take that lil’ girl and rape her, right? We did ‘em a favour, right? Or…did I get it wrong? I don’t think I did. That’s um…I dunno, that’s not murder, though. It’s not illegal, right?”

“It’s really illegal, Pitie. Like, really, really illegal. They can take her if her da owes them money.”

“…Oh.” Pitie scrunched his face up again. “Guess that’s not rape then.”

“I don’t think she’d agree, but by law? Yeah.” Lukios shook his head, and Askles sighed.

“Look, how about we help ‘em clean up and have a chat about reportin’ to the guard? I mean…Those Fafafucks won’t really come back and kill ‘em all, will they?”

Lukios was silent. “I think they will.”

“Aw, come on, Lucky. They won’t. This is Illos, not a fucking backwater like Eir. You don’t kill shopkeepers here without the guard swarmin’ like ants.”

“…I’m from Eir, ‘Kles.”

“Yeah, but you grew up here. You’re proper. It’s different.”

Lukios only snorted. “Uh huh. Well, the two of you can get going if you want. I’m gonna talk to Neva and Mahdi and figure out what’s gone sideways. It’s not right to make a mess and leave it.”

Pitie was nodding. “That’s true. Don’t hurt none to talk a bit.”

Askles sighed. There was no winning.

“’Kles?”

“Fine. Fine. But seriously, Lucky. No more crazy bullshit. Fuck. We killed five guys for breakfast. Fuck.”

“Oh, come on, ‘Kles. There is no way this is my fault. We couldn’t just walk away! Cowardice is unmanly.”

Askles rolled his eyes, but Pitie was nodding along. Typical.

“No more crazy shit. I mean it, Lucky. Seriously.”

“Fine, fine. But ‘Kles. Pitie.”

“Yeah?”

“You two let me do the talking, okay?” This time Lukios rolled his eyes. “I swear, the shit that comes out of your mouths sometimes.”

‘Kles sighed.

Yup. There was never any winning with Lucky.

Askles looked down at his bloodied tunic and chiton, and sighed.

Crazy fucker.