Griff didn’t return for over an hour. Evelynn was left to roam the streets, idly, and watch the crowds snake away into their alley homes or grander tiers of the city. The few that did stay around were heavily armoured, or wearing the royal cloth robes of the palace mages. She shied away at once.
Eventually, Griff stumbled up back into Brinsley’s alley, bruised and stumbling and not quite there. His eyes lost any certainty to them and were constantly looking behind him.
Evelynn pushed off the wall next to Brinsley, who was giving his own, concerned look. ‘Hey, are you…?’
‘I’m good,’ Griff said. With spunk, he pushed up his shoulders to counteract all the obvious signs he wasn’t. ‘At least, I will after the pay.’ He hesitated. A wise caution framed his face. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Completely,’ she said.
Her brother sighed, then went to open the sewer grate. ‘Sister’s first.’
Crawling into the open sewers, Cutlass felt like another world. Haloed by the sun’s interstices through the open grate, they remained briefly in a halo of light, before Griff climbed down and trotted into the darkness.
Evelynn followed, but slowly, and it was only with the last splinters of sunlight that she saw Griff pull a small canister from his pocket. It opened with a winding crank, and once it did, four orbs of light burst out to illuminate the corridor stone.
Evelynn’s heart jumped in her chest. ‘What is that?’ She couldn’t help the curiosity in her tone.
‘I bought this fair and square, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Griff said, clutching it tight. ‘Just another thing you get working with the right people.’
They continued. Corridors wound and spidered, splaying into long, impossible catacombs with a million paths that Griff never expounded on or questioned, keeping lightning-focussed on one path. Evelynn couldn’t imagine how he remembered.
Evelynn only learnt later that the underground belonged to a multitude of factions, guilds, and reclusive horrors, but for now it seemed all part of a simple, grand design. Always there were trickles of sewage and running water, usually from the ceiling, and a reek of dead fur Evelynn didn’t want to know the source of. She too easily imagined some fanged beast waiting around the next corner, its saliva dripping as it perched in wait. Her grip tightened on Griff’s hand.
They stopped at a door, less defined by any handle and more by the corridor’s sudden end. Griff rapped his knuckles over the single wooden slat in the wall.
Before the third knock it had swiped violently open. ‘Password?’ A grizzled voice said. All Evelynn could see was a scarred mouth and beard.
Griff nodded and withdrew a small, glowing parchment strip from his trousers. ‘Mortician,’ he read aloud.
The door swung open. Suddenly there was the voice of crowds, a sinister whispering, clumped together in the way one plotted and connived. Evelynn picked out warm flames, the heady stings of alcohol, and thick-set wooden tables. Anything else was block by the guard standing in their way.
He was thick for his armour, and huge. His scowl had a way of echoing past them then down the chamber. ‘Who’s she?’
Griff drew in a tight breath. ‘My sister.’
The guard actually hesitated. ‘Should she be here?’
‘She wanted to be.’ Griff said in a throw-away voice.
He shrugged. ‘Her loss.’ Then the door juddered open.
Cutlass was huge. Backlit by fires, dimly lit, the cloaks and scraggly-clad men at the tables dwelled in a rich, cavorting dark. All the voices combined gave the impression of an average market day; loud and quiet, somehow matching in a harmony she’d rarely seen. Lanterns provided most of the light, laced with gold filigree that spiralled down from the ceiling and past a second floor the darkness was too murky to reach. It seemed pieces of the gold had been stolen, then replaced by dull plate too inconvenient and worthless to pry.
Evelynn scanned the room. Most of them were human, or scions of humanity, half here, half there, elves and orcs and halflings, – the pale, impossibly tall men beside the bartender exempted – which made the man with the horns even easily to spot, since his skin also happened to be purple. He sat on a raised platform that held a dice-table, grinning softly with his hands interlocked as a man in fine silks stormed off. She watched the obvious nobleman grumble as he approached the door, barely side-step her, then leave.
And it took her a moment, just one, to realise everyone was looking at her.
She should’ve realised sooner, because no one had spoken a word since the nobleman stood up. Maybe it was because of him, or perhaps patrons always checked the front in their routine assessment of threats. Dice were being held in hands but not rattled, and apart from the rare drink or drug sniffed out of instinct, all continued to stare. Never had so many eyes affixed her in one room.
Evelynn tried suppressing the growing knot in her throat, then walked straight in. It occurred to her just how ambitious this all was, how stupid, right as she crossed the doors and sealed off any conventional escape. She felt like a fish in a storm of gulls, as each patron waited for another to claim her. Griff struggled to catch up.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Eventually the horned man seized the moment, making his way over slowly, eloquently, with the patience of something planned. He held out his hand eloquently.
‘It’s so fun getting visitors!’ the demon-man said, completely unfazed she’d yet to shake his hand. ‘Name’s Rig. And what would someone as innocent as you be doing in a place like this?’ He raised a brow, with an expediency Evelynn guessed well-rehearsed. ‘Are you innocent?’
‘I haven’t killed anyone,’ Evelynn said. ‘If that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Obviously, obviously!’ Rig said, craning his head. ‘And neither have I. But accidents tend to happen around shits like these.’ A couple of patrons laughed, and Rig smiled. Infused by it, motivated, he seemed far more dangerous.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. ‘You might be innocent, little lady, but you’re still not polite, and that carries worlds more down here. You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I’m with my brother.’ She moved aside so she and Griff could face Rig together. Her brother seemed uncertain, humbled by some knowledge she hadn’t the chance to learn. The demon-man suddenly soured, malice wiped from his eyes, then placed his hands in his pockets.
‘Oh, you’re with the Altar-boy.’ He signed, then held up his hands in grinning surrender. ‘I get it – you can’t buy what isn’t for sale.’ At this, most of the patrons turned back to their games and their drink. The barkeep continued to mix and serve, dealings were redrawn, and the general conniving whispers that seemed essential to Cutlass’s survival resumed. The pairs of eyes pinning Evelynn reduced to a merciful few.
‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ Griff said, turning inward so he could face away from the crowd. ‘You should go before they change their minds.’
But Evelynn was far too stubborn to be swayed. Griff was hiding something big, and years of weaselling had taught her to never let him go after he tipped his hand. Though most had stopped caring, three figures were still snatching glances at her from across the room. She struck out straight towards them. ‘What did Rig mean by “Altar-boy?” I have trouble believing you’re a member of the Church.’
‘Look, it isn’t important.’
‘Griff, what aren’t you telling me?’
Her brother rolled his eyes. He always did that, when he felt he knew exactly what was going on, that whatever had led him in here and whoever he served was something she wasn’t supposed to understand. Like lying had to be this occupational necessity. It was excruciating how bull-headed he was.
‘Stop going that way.’ Griff had started by tapping her shoulder, then gripped her before she could get any further. Evelynn’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t want to anger him more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If we get too close we’ll have to –’
‘Ah, Griff. Good to have you back.’
The voice had come from a bulky man, dressed in the remnants of military armour. He was seated regally at a round, wide table, two thinner servants flanking him either side in cloaks. The same three who had been watching her earlier. Not one seemed to understand basic courtesies, and continued to stare at her, anyway.
Griff immediately stepped in front of her. ‘Sir.’
The man rustled, and Evelynn used her cover to take another peek. His armour wasn’t worn with much importance, or dignity despite their weight; the chainmail shirt bounced and curled around his slump of a gut – his gauntlets had turned umber from rust, and a pair of serrated pauldrons hung lethally at his shoulders. Seated, slumped and statuesque, he eyed Evelynn with something worse than interest.
Griff pulled Evelynn further into his shadow. ‘Mr Altar,’ he tried, like another form of address could wash that greed on his face.
The thinnest, paler cloak drew close to its master, whispered something. The armoured man switched to Griff as Evelynn felt the intense waver in her chest pass. ‘Did you succeed?’
‘Of course, Sir.’
The man frowned. ‘Don’t assume, and don’t pretend I shouldn’t have to ask. There’s plenty of ways you could’ve fucked it up.’
Griff gulped. ‘Sorry Sir. I succeeded, Sir.’
Altar’s lips twisted to a frown. ‘Got any proof?’
‘He, he should have sent Message –’
The man cut him off with an ugly, toad-like laugh. Evelynn guessed this was the nicest he was ever going to be. ‘He told me everything, kid. You did well for your first plant.’
Evelynn nudged her brother none-too-gently in the ribs. ‘Plant?’
‘Not a big deal,’ Griff hissed.
Evelynn gathered herself. Her brother’s boss was pointing to his closest advisor. The first cloak withdrew a pouch and dithered over, offered it to Griff in thin, rat-like hands. What lay inside clinked heavily and gleamed with the stored power of the moon.
Evelynn started counting it before Griff tugged the strings shut. Her brother looked up, and just stared. ‘Mr Altar, this’s…’
‘The extra ten’s for your loyalty,’ his boss said between chews. ‘Think of it as an investment.’ One of his lackeys rustled slightly at that word, eyeing the bar. ‘You better you get, the less hassle you are. And I always like someone who knows how to clean these messes up.’
Griff nodded, before remembering just who he’d brought here and freezing up. Even pretending to like this Altar man, Griff was already making himself scarce. Cupping his newfound coin, rubbing to convince himself it was real. Evelynn got the sense that any extra time had to be duly accounted for and generously compensated. Altar was already back to his drink.
She stepped up. The pale cloaked man leaned close, intending to revive an indifferent master. But it was all an act. Every second Altar guzzled from his cup he kept one eye on her, and the moment she left Griff’s shadow he leered, watching her like a newfound prize. Perhaps she was. With a finger he beckoned her closer, and once she was within reach he clasped her hand in his calloused, ragged one. ‘You must be Griff’s sister. Miles Altar – a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Evelynn,’ she said. It was the best she could do, and she was terrifying of stepping wrong. Out of all the first impressions she had mangled, this was not one she could afford.
‘Pretty name,’ his second Cloak said. A woman’s voice, rising from an eternally down-turned hood. ‘Any reason you’re risking yourself in here?’
Altar eyed his lackey darkly, and Evelynn shivered. In his wake her brother seemed impossibly brave. ‘I want to work for you.’
Altar didn’t react past the slightest upturned lip. ‘What can you do?’
‘Nothing my brother can’t do worse.’
Griff cringed at that, but it was enough for Altar to repeat his ruddy laugh. ‘A pragmatist! You really are a novelty. But why should I give you anything? Your brother’s only here because of you.’
Evelynn felt everything inside her go cold. Her heart went still, every finger twitched. The dryness in her throat settled to a subtle numbing. She turned to her brother, slowly. Griff’s face was frozen between a pitiful look and a wistful one, and she was suddenly flooded with remorse for thinking, in the worst part of her brain, that he’d been doing this all for himself.
‘I’m someone else you can use. I can deliver messages, whatever those scrolls were…’
‘Poisons,’ the pale man at Altar’s side said, in a slithering voice. ‘There’s a supplier in house. I’m sure he’d be happy to…’
Altar raised a palm inches from his advisor’s face. The pale man shut up. ‘I don’t have many your age, kid, and none like you.’ He grinned voraciously, and Evelynn couldn’t help shifting foot to foot. ‘Alright.’ He took in his entourage, his lackeys, and laughed. ‘We still have the Praefectus failure hanging over us, boys. I think our little pragmatist will be our solution.’
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