Cold air. Shay’s explanations of the moon moving weirdly and faceless clock towers were not satisfactory excuses for Woid. From his perspective, she had left and returned almost immediately, while so far as Shay understood, she had been gone for a good long while; heist fulfilled and all. Her empty pockets disagreed.
∞
Woid was the last to jump down into the tunnel, having dusted the secret entry on either side with illusionary powder. He had not cleaned his hands properly, such that one of his fingers was also invisible. (He had not mixed it as Shay had instructed; her personal recipe a modified blend to the norm.) Shay took her waist-long cape and wrapped it around the as-yet-unnamed child. Just as Woid had leant above against a shadow he did the same here, the column of moonlight above them slowly fading as the powder worked away. He was most absorbed by his temporarily invisible finger, more curious than concerned. He winced at a high-pitched ringing in his ear and he tapped near it, asking Shay:
"Yours not working either?"
She shook her head.
∞
Eventually, in an utter darkness that only the eyes of assassins and rogues such as Shay and Woid understand, Shay asked again:
“How did you know about the streets; when they would be bright-light and not? And you made me woe-overly cautious - they won’t be looking for me.”
“Certainly not if your pockets are empty!” Woid chimed in, poking. “This was a simple target for you. You can tell me - did you lose your nerve just around the corner?”
“I stole those seeds.” Shay’s growl filled the quiet tunnel.
“Why are your pockets empty, then? Someone steal them back? A spooky tea-obsessed hand waiting on the windowsill?”
To shut him up, I imagine, Shay handed him a pouch full of notes in the dark:
“I know you need your next fix, so here.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What about you?” he was already stuffing the pouch into his pocket. “Ah, it’s not yours.” He realised, feeling the vintage identification cards and documents, etched as they were with bumps for fingers to read. “Ah, I know her! She owes me anyway. These won't be worth much for much longer, new age and all that.”
∞
“Lay’d Payn sent me to find you.” The child offered hungrily. “She told me some of What, When and Who, and all that.”
The two assassins eyed each other, neither knowing who Lay’d Payn was. Images bubbled and brewed through Shay’s mind and there the sharp voice of an elden lay’d whispered incoherently.
∞
It is me that she remembers - the teller of this tayl and tale. We’ll get to me, so worry not for now.
∞
“You must have a fine memory for all of that.” Shay picked up the girl and made light her steps down the swallowing tunnel.
“I’ll take you back to my shop.” Shay offered. “What’s your name?”
“Serib.” The starving girl said with a spark, smiling.
One could say Woid followed them, though Serib would not. He did remain with Shay as she went but he was always leaning on the shadows: not visibly walking at all from place to place. Just vanishing and appearing.
“No wonder you need these thieving side jobs, you’re giving everything else away. I’ll tell The Club our target got tipped off, or something silly like that.”
Shay almost sighed along such lines of - ‘you could do it yourself’ - as it had been this way for some while now: Woid provided the information and Shay would carry out the job. He had all the contacts because she had little been herself for a long while now. Distracted by grief.
∞
As Shay advanced down the parched tunnels, glowing moss or mushrooms finally allowed Serib to see where they were going; through a net or web of winding narrow pathways. Looking in some parts more like caves, the curving walls made of stone instead of steel. Others more as alleyways lay quiet, cobbled under and bricked to the sides, though buried long ago, unknown to moon and starlight. Buried shop windows. From the bobbing of Shay’s shoulder, Serib looked at Woid as he no longer ‘followed’ them. He remained there leaning relaxed on shadows, wearing now a different outfit altogether, more a robed-gown over regal pyjamas. Yawning.