Chapter 51 - Angel on the Shoulder

The four of knaves deals in secrets. whether secrets kept or secrets revealed matters little to the knaves, so long as they can turn them to advantage.

-Lancaster’s Manual of Wills

“What drives the Kindledown fighter?”

The deck resisted for a moment. The recalcitrant cards shuffled, then cut, then tried to fly apart. With a grunt, I wrapped my will around them and forced them back in line. But I could feel them push against me. The whole collection felt annoyed, plagued by some unknown malady. Still, I managed to get the three cards off the top of the deck. Four of petals, three of knaves, and the hanged man.

Mercy, subtlety, and martyrdom? I rubbed my chin. That was a strange set of cards for a pit fighter. Not what I’d expect to see from an orc pit fighter. I sighed and looked up at the wane dragons circling overhead. “Any advice?” I asked. They, of course, ignored me. All rites of communion with the magic-sapping ghost gods had died with the Golden Elves.

“Fine, be that way,” I said. I pushed back to my feet and pulled the cards back to my deck. Wandering back to the crowd, I started sidling through the orc side of the pit. Quick fingers aren’t just good for cards, and I managed to liberate a few clips and cunnings as I wove through men, elves, and orcs. There were still a few smaller fights before the main event, so I had time to snoop.

The mender for the Teeth glanced my way, but no recognition crossed his face. I doubt he’d remember one face in the crowd that had turned into a riot, and by the time I’d jumped into the ring with Storm, he’d been elsewise occupied cushioning Foe’s fists with his face. The she-orc must have had something over him for him to be back under her finger. Blackmail or a hostage.

I thought back to what Jeedle had said. “Them girls at the mop is another story.”

Nah.

Cheers spread through the crowd. I followed the roil of adoration back to a hulking brute that I swear must have been half orc half giant. He flexed for his fans, flesh already slick with sweat from his warm-up. Veldt-mottle from the shadow savannah east of Saltforge speckled his face and shoulders. His slabs of muscle bulged under the tension as he struck a pose. There was no hint of mercy here. No subtlety or martyrdom. I didn’t envy Annalisa, having to face down that monster.

Who am I kidding, she had probably never been happier.

Still, it didn’t make sense on the surface. The Deck of Wills has a mind of its own. What had it tried to tell me?

I tried to get closer to the fighter but received a threatening glare from one of the younger Teeth in his retinue. I raised my eyebrow at him in what I hope was a suggestive, seductive way. But his glare only deepened. I was no Damen, that was for sure.

The fighter split from Foe to head for his corner of the pit, and I made a split-second decision and followed the she-orc and the mender, instead. Whatever the cards had been trying to tell me, it wasn’t about the monster of a pit-fighter about to try his best to murder my partner. The Wills buzzed their agreement in my pocket.

I didn’t like this. To read the Wills is one thing. To dance to their tune? Entirely another. From the first day of the first class, the dangers of slaving oneself to the will of their own deck had been made abundantly clear. But so much of what I learned at the academy had already turned out to be only half-true. The Wills were giving me a thread to pull at. But, was it really my choice to follow it?

Foe directed three of her goons to take the mender to a section of the stands, near several of the other members of her gang. He hadn’t been under guard the last fight I’d seen him fix, so clearly there was some trust lost, there. But they were on the move, and for a moment, Foe’s eyes were off him. I had to think fast.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I pushed my way into their path and made a show of clumsily blundering into the mender. We went down in a tangle, along with one of the half-orcs.

“Oh, my!” I said, pulling off my hat and fanning myself with it.

Some of the crowd were starting to stare and laugh. One of the mongrel guards still standing pulled me back onto my feet with one hand, baring his teeth in my face.

“Watch your step, you clumsy whore fuck.”

“Sir!” I said, scandalized. “We prefer the term sex worker these day-uuoof”

I gasped as his fist caved in my guts. He dropped me, and I stumbled away, clutching my stomach and searching for the wind I’d lost. The things I do for theatrics.

“Don’t you move,” he said to me. Then, “Check your purse strings,” the mongrel barked to the others. They all checked, and while my fingers had been somewhat sticky this evening, that hadn’t been my goal with the quartet, so everything seemed to be in order.

“Come on, I don’t want Foe Skull thinking we’re fucking off,” said one of the others.

“What about him?” asked the one who had punched me, jerking his thumb in my direction.

“Who gives a shit?” the other snarled. He pushed the mender along. “Come on, you whore fuck.”

Ok, so the foul-mouthed orc hadn’t been making a commentary on my unintentional disguise. But they also didn’t seem to be paying me any more mind. I wandered to the nearest drink stall and got myself something to calm my nerves and dull the pain in my abdomen. I hadn’t had to exaggerate the effect of that punch. Much.

Once the goons had taken their seats, I moved to a spot on the stands where I could easily see them and sat down. I might not have lightened their pockets, but my hands hadn’t been idle. I could still sense the card I’d slipped into the mender’s pocket. The four of knaves held my will, waiting for my call, and since it let me communicate with others at a distance, I expected it might work the other way around, as well.

I felt for the thread connecting me to the card. It stretched taught, like a string between two hollow cans. And everyone knows what happens when you whisper into one end of a setup like that.

“Don’t react,” I murmured. Of course, the Teeth fixer flinched as though I’d shocked him with living lightning. He looked around, and then questioned one of his guards, who gave him an incredulous look, and raised the back of his hand as if to strike him. But the poor sod leaned away and turned around. I rolled my eyes.

“Now that’s out of the way, can you understand me? Blink twice if you can.”

“Who are you?”

I tried to keep from flinching, myself. I hadn’t expected the link to be two-way. Honestly, I hadn’t expected this to work at all. There was nothing in Lancaster’s manual about how the four of knaves worked. Only conceptual musings, leaving me with what I’d found myself; that it enabled secret communication and uncovered the same.

“The angel on your shoulder,” I replied. “What’s your name?”

The mender scanned the crowd, and I made sure not to look his direction when his eyes stopped on me for a moment. He continued looking around.

“Barthran of Keel Street. What do you want?”

One of the fighters in the pits surrendered, and the crowd went wild. I waited until it settled down to continue.

“I know the Teeth have you against your will, Barthran. I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Call it charity, if you want. My reasons are my own. But there has to be some reason the guild doesn’t have your back with this.”

“I can’t go to the guild,” he said, scowling. Control your expressions, damn it. “I should never have got involved with the pits. But I got in deep. I owe them a lot of silver, and now they have my brother.”

That would do it. Blackmail, then. The rest of the deck hummed in my pocket, satisfied. Yeah, yeah, self-pleased little bastards.

“Where?” I asked. I concentrated, trying my best to hold the mental image of a map of the lower city in my mind’s eye. Slowly, a section to the southwest, near the docks, began to glow brighter on the map. The mender’s face was getting red with concentration. Inwardly, I thanked the stars that he was a mage, and receptive to these sorts of feats.

“I get him out, the orc loses the fight. Do we have a deal?”

“What kind of angel makes bargains?”

“The fallen kind. You got some long angel queue that you can afford to be picky?” I took a page from the Wills book and tried sending a flash of annoyance down the line. It must have worked, because he looked appropriately chagrinned.

“Both of us! They’ll kill me if Stump doesn’t win. I need to know you’ll get him out. Once I have proof, then I’ll mend the Dunnemarshe girl. But only if you can extract me once the fight is over, as well.”

I growled. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hurry,” he sent through the line. But he needn’t have bothered. I was already out of the stands and headed west. The next fight had already started.