Evelynn didn’t expect the man handing her stew to be from the Den. He crossed his arms casually, a leg kicked back against the alley walls, only motioning her closer after her brother disappeared down the sewer grate. He was a tall man, with brass skin and an oily face. Evelynn couldn’t help noticing the sunlight shimmer off the daggers slotted in his boots and the frayed leather scabbard at his belt.

Evelynn remained where she was. Two continents from his home, the man was disturbingly out of place – encountering a Karg in a back alley was straight out of the stories her mother liked to spin. More importantly, they weren’t hired unless there was sufficient need; his presence by the grate probably brought the Den more attention than if he’d stayed inside. Maybe that was the point. The underground needed customers, and an expensive mercenary certainly matched the type.

Desna, what had her brother gotten into?

Eventually, her hunger won out. From the front of the alley, the market stalls registered as faint hollers and shouts, the final, afternoon push as wives bought the last ingredients for supper and merchants rushed to sell what was only partially stale. For days her stomach had been thinning, carving her like a rake into a weak, miserable hunch; the easiest chance at a free meal were the mouldy bread hunks they had no chance to sell. She reluctantly drew into his shadow long enough to snatch the bowl he’d been cradling, and began sipping at the lip.

‘There’s a spoon,’ the man offered, a hand fumbling into one of his many pockets. He pulled it out, and Evelynn nodded thanks as she snatched that one up too.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked between mouthfuls.

The man shrugged. ‘Your Griff’s sister – Cutlass looks after its own. Don’t look so surprised.’

‘I don’t belong in there.’

He cocked his head, far enough his lone earring glittered in the afternoon light. ‘Oh? Did I go to all this trouble just to feed a street rat?’

Evelynn withdrew, twiddling a finger through the poor patchwork of her dress. The man burst into a hearty laugh. ‘Maybe you’ve never been in there, but you belong with us.’

Unwilling to ponder any further, Evelynn focussed on finishing her stew. She took it slow, no matter how much the cramps in her stomach burned and how rancid her throat had become. In one world her desperation might be viewed as grateful, but it was just as likely to be read as weakness. And she wasn’t going to rub a free meal the wrong way.

Well, free on her part. She suppressed a climbing shiver.

‘What does he have to do?’

The man seemed conflicted a second, then his uncanny brightness faded into a frown.  ‘He’s a Scurry, an errand boy. He’s not that involved.’

There it was. Evelynn recognised the dismissive tick in his voice as the same Griff had used before bringing her here. Both spoke like she was something to be swatted away. She’d hoped someone more intimate with the dealings of Cutlass might throw her a bone, take pity for her peace of mind. Instead, the bouncer hunched and began inspecting the alley’s flagstones.

‘But he has to be, doesn’t he? You don’t get to go down there if you’re just delivering.’

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The man huffed and turned to the side, so he seemed to embrace the cold alley wall. ‘Look kid, I don’t see why you care. Your brother works here, you get fed. Why does it have to be more complicated?’

Evelynn gulped. Her mother once had a saying about not questioning the source of her food. But Cutlass was dangerous. They were a gang of murderers and thieves. There were stories still floating of one man, cut short on a deal, turning his partner to stone. Her sense of self-preservation wasn’t so strong as to be toppled by her concern. ‘What kind of errands?’

‘Carrying messages, smuggling.’ Just as vague, but he seemed solemn this time. He crossed his arms.  ‘The kind of stuff you could do.’

‘Are you saying I belong in there?’

The man eyed her, then smiled. From his height, any judgement was hard to separate from the sheer distance he had to look down. ‘You wouldn’t be a good fit,’ he admitted. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can’t try. Worked for me.’

Evelynn began to consider this, when suddenly, the sewer latch flipped up and a cap of blonde hair popped out. His hair was tussled and long, and a short dagger now dangled from his frayed trousers. Griff wasn’t much older than her, barely three years, but he’d still managed to capture the elusive title of One Who Knew Best.

‘There, told you I wouldn’t take too long.’ Griff said, rolling his shoulders and blatantly basking in the sunlight. Working in a Den, one had to be almost nocturnal to fit the schedule of the regulars.  ‘Is it good stew?’

She nodded, then pointed to the one thing he hadn’t been carrying when he tunnelled in. ‘What’s with the scroll?’

The strange thing peeked out of his dirt-dusted hands, long and yellow and completely untouched. Even rolled up, she could see glowing words shift impossibly across the parchment; ephemeral, luminant, the clear signs of mage work. Griff stuffed it into a hole in his trousers. ‘One of my important deliveries. I can’t talk about it.’

Evelynn felt the suspecting knot coil tight at her throat. ‘But you always tell me.’

‘This’s different,’ he said sharply, defensively, and Evelynn suddenly regretted ever allowing him to work for Cutlass. He must’ve read her face, for he mouthed an apology and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Please. It’s thirty silver pieces. We’ll be able to afford those cherry tarts you saw. You know, the ones outside Moana’s.’

Evelynn scowled. He always did this, especially when he thought he knew better than usual and had some half-cobbled plan up his sleeve. Ironically, his deflections made him so much easier to read. ‘I’d rather a decent bedroll. Tell me, Griffin Pladeus. Right now.’

Her brother seemed an inch from giving up. ‘If I do I lose the job,’ Griff said quickly, then shivered. ‘And probably more.’ He turned to the guard, who was watching them coolly. ‘Thanks for keeping her out of trouble, Brinsley.’

‘Always a pleasure,’ the man said, grinning at them both. He held their eyes, then paused awkwardly. When Griff frowned, he relented. ‘She wants to join the Scurries.’

Griff turned on her, smiling, and feinted a venomous sort of surprise. ‘Oh. Does she?’

Evelynn straightened and raised her chin. ‘Yes.’

‘And I suppose you’ve given this a lot of thought.’

‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘But if you’re stupid enough to do it, then why can’t I?’

‘Evie, it’s dangerous.’

‘You’re still here.’

Griff slapped his forehead and scowled, as Brinsley suppressed a poorly held chuckle. ‘That’s not the point. No one else would take me. At least you’ve got the Hems.’

Evelynn looked down at hands. Callouses marked them long throughout, and she was as much embarrassed by their lumpiness as their strength.  Her last shift’s wire-plucking strain still ached in her fingers. ‘I’m sick of that factory. And you have no idea how much it stinks.’

He raised a brow. ‘I thought you liked knitting.’

‘Not for 10 hours a day, and not forever. At least you always do something different.’

‘Maybe differently dangerous,’ Griff scoffed. ‘You don’t want to be inside. One of the gamblers in there – he has horns.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

Griff stumbled, but only for a moment. ‘One of the main providers, they are three of them, but two always appear out of nowhere when you talk to their brother.’

‘Now you’re just trying to tease me.’

Griff shared a concerned look with Brinsley, who merely shrugged. ‘One peek can’t hurt.’ He paused. ‘Probably.’

Griff sagged into his hands again. ‘Fine,’ Griff said, and Evelynn’s eyes lit up at the change in his eyes, ‘but I have to deliver this first. Tonight, and we’ll go in, together.’

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