Neighbourhood Watch, pt2

Rúna looked at the faces around the makeshift table. The lanterns only barely illuminated the dank chamber beneath Gaddoc Railway. “So, what do we have? I’ve got nothing.” 

The weeks had gone poorly. Neither she nor Steini had been able to catch a glimpse of the masked thugs that had troubled them. Rúna had thought it would be easier to track down such obvious troublemakers but there were so much trouble in Duskvol, she almost felt sorry for the Bluecoats. Almost. Khara looked displeased with the dank surrounding, Clevin was eating a neatly cut sandwich, while Candros was sharpening his hunting knife. She waited for someone to speak up.

Khara raised a cautious hand. “I paid a visit to Lady Anya Hartigan.” When no one interrupted, she continued with more confidence. “She was nearly bursting with the news. Their servingman hadn’t finished pouring tea when she started to gush.” Khara sighed, “but the other ladies forgave her crass behaviour as they were just as excited by the scandal.”

Candros perked up at the word. Had even he heard? Rúna motioned at Khara to continue. “The scandal even made the papers. You see, it all started when a cabbie was delivering some guests to the estate of…”

Rúna frowned and made a hurry up motion.

“Ah.” Khara sniffed. “Well, Lord Templeton was found dead. His body was hacked apart if you can believe it. The son has taken over the family interests, but it seems he is not happy with business as usual. He’s been buying up cheap properties and knocking them down to build anew. The family estate has become a fortress with all the new security he has hired. Now up in…”

Rúna help up her hand. “That is all interesting, but I don’t hear anything that we can act on.” She turned to Clevin.

“Eh. I went wiv the little miss. The cook at Hartigan’s place gave me some Eel soup.” Everyone kept looking on expectantly. “Well, it was very good.”

Khara grinned and patted Clevin on the hand. Everyone then turned to the newest member of the circle. Candros leaned back on his chair and sheathed his knife. “Huh, it seems I can be of some real value.” Rúna made her hurry up signal again. Candros nodded, face becoming serious . “We need to watch ‘The Charhollow Improvement Society’. They look like a collection of local merchants and landowners but they have some violent folk among them. Turns out they have gatherings every wednesday. They generally talk about nonsense, but there are grievances against the incoming skovlan refugees.” He stopped to give more weight to his next words. “A few members have taken to dealing with those grievances with direct action.”

Clevin stopped eating and put the brown paper bag on the table. “So, you gonna tell us where these meetings are then?”

“The Charred Rose Public House.”

* * *

The red brick building had obviously been intended to mirror the fancy constructions across the river in Charterhall, but the cheap materials and sloppy workmanship showed. At least the two story public house stood out squeezed between the Charhollow tenements.

Candros looked up at the second story window from the rubbish strewn back alley. Someone had cracked it open to get some cool air. “Too easy.” He tested his grip on the mortared gaps in the bricks. Satisfied, he scaled the wall up with fluid motions until he could peek into the window. A storage room with a door opening to a kitchen. He slid the window wide open and eased inside. Noise from the kitchen was clear through the cheap walls. He was just sliding the window closed when he caught the creak of someone pushing open the door. A greasy man in an apron. The knife flew true. Candros was across the room and hiding the man before he could hit the floor. The man reached up towards the knife, but his bloody fingers couldn’t get a grip of the handle. His eyes looked up at Candros, confused, questioning.

“Sorry mate. Wrong time for a smoke break.” Candros kept his hand over the man’s mouth until he stopped struggling. Then cleaned his bloody hand on the dead man’s apron.

Across the road, five heavily armed people walked straight at the main door to the Charred Rose. One young man was just finishing washing the glass-paned windows. He heard the footsteps on the wooden porch, dropped his rag in a bucket and turned. “Sorry folks, but we’re just closing for a private event. Perhaps if you come back in…” He saw the knives, heavy leathers, and holstered pistols. There was a flash of recognition. “You. You were at the Skov bar”. Rúna and Clevin pulled back their jackets, hands on knife grips. The young man tried to back away into the wall. With one hand he pushed open the front door. “Pu, please don’t kill me.”

Clevin patted him on the head. “Good boy. Time to run away.”

He needed no further encouragement. He bolted down the road, leaving a bucket spilling soapy water across the porch.

The short entry hall divided Public House. To the right was a door with a sign indicating ‘Lounge’. Three men were just walking through the left ‘Common’ door. Rúna immediately recognised the middle man, Blue-eyes. She stepped forward without hesitation, putting one hand over Blue-eye’s shoulder in a friendly gesture that confused him. Rúna held him close. “Hello there, remember me?.” The knife struck under Blue-eye’s ribcage, blood poured over her arm. He looked shocked, blood dribbled from the side of his mouth as he coughed. She held him while his eyes glazed over.

The roughly dressed man on the left saw the friendly embrace, then blood splashed on the floor. “What…” His question was silenced by Clevin crushing his windpipe with one hand, while Khara slashed her fan across the throat of the man to the right, leaving a gaping red gash. He fumbled for his throat, then looked at his bloody hands in disbelief. He sagged back against the wall, looking up in confusion at the three armed people. Clevin dropped his victim, and all three walked through the door marked ‘Common”.

There were a few dozen chairs arranged around tables, and all but a handful were occupied by men and women chatting amongst themselves, apparently filling time while waiting for a speaker to step up to the rough podium setup at the end of the bar. A dandy looking man was standing at the bar chatting to the publican. The dandy flicked open a timepiece, nodded and put it back in his waistcoat. He started to walk towards the podium. Rúna scanned the room and recognised a familiar face framed in the doorway behind the bar, Candros. Rúna caught his attention then pointed at the dandy.

The pandemonium was immediate. A shot rang out and in front of the crowd the dandy collapsed, blood splashed all over the podium. People screamed and dived for cover. Tables were overturned, glasses crashed, and chairs were scattered as people looked around for the gunman. Candros walked along behind the bar, reloading his gun. Someone in the crowd pointed a pistol and tried to aim. After a defining bang he fell back, one eye a bloody hole. Candros reloaded.

“Anyone who touches a weapon is dead.” Runa drew a pair of heavy flintlocks and stalked into the room, escorted by Clevin and Khara, while Steini pulled his own pistols and covered the room from the door. Amid the panicked screams a couple of people thought to escape through the curtained windows, the crash of the glass panes added to the sounds of multiple gunshots. A few people worked up the courage to fight back, but only a couple of shots did anything more than damage the roof. 

Silence descended on the room. The remaining dozen still breathing crouched on the floor. “This is a message from the people of Charhollow.” All eyes were on her. “We wont take threats.” She thrust a finger at the door. The crowd surged outside.

Candros lifted the whimpering publican into view. “Do we do something about this one?”

“Please good sirs, I am only trying to turn an honest coin. This lot paid well to rent out the rooms.” He stopped struggling, eyes flicking uneasily at the pistol pointed at his temple.

Khara picked her way between the tumbled furniture and dead bodies towards the publican. She pulled his face towards her, gazing straight into his eyes. “Since you have no love for these people, I am sure you will want to share any coin they gave to help those hurt by the actions of…” she pointed at the now cooling bodies, “these people.”

He frantically nodded agreement.

The others went first, leaving the publican to start tidying up the room and think of what to say to the coming bluecoats and spirit-wardens. Rúna lagged bahind in the twisting back alleys of Charhollow. As the battle-rush left her she felt the pain in her side. She slid her leathers away from her side, and saw the bloody bullet hole punched through her abdomen. "Not good."

Neighbourhood Watch, pt1

Rúna heard Hoxley’s voice and looked up from her table. The ‘Drunk Frog’ was still gathering it’s patrons this early in the afternoon, only a third of the seat occupied. The other patrons were a mix of races, the tawny Akerosi, a scattering of pale Skovlan, and a couple of dark Iruvians. She and Khara had come in early at Hoxley’s request. Rúna spotted Hoxley warning a stranger, a lean and nervous looking man. Rúna raised he r hand and waved the two over to her table. The stranger took his time, looking at the other patrons around him before coming closer. 

“Hey, glad you finally made it Hox. Who’s your friend?” Rúna asked.

He nodded in greeting. “This is an old friend, Candros. We go way back. He’s struck some difficulties and I thought of you two.”

“Is he in need of some hard to procure goods?” Khara asked.

Candros leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. “Not at all. Was thinking of someone to watch my back, and maybe earn a little on the side?” He looked each of the women in the eyes, trying to take the measure their will. Khara smiled and fluttered her fan. Rúna narrowed her eyes.

“I know you.” She leaned back and pulled her collar aside revealing a scarred lump under her collarbone. “You gave me this little gift back in Lockport. Were you trying to kill me?”

Candros shrugged. “Veleris said to shoot. He didn’t specify if he wanted you dead.”

Clevin cracked his knuckled. The others watched as the tension grew. 

“Ha!” Rúna slammed palm against the table. “I take it dear Captain Veleris is causing trouble for you , if you were talking to us.”

“It’s because of him I spent the last few years as a guest of His majesty in Ironhook prison. Framed me for murdering civilians.”

Khara looked intently at Candros. “Did you?

“Yes. But Veleris gave the orders.”

Rúna kicked a chair which skidded across the wooden floor to stop in front of Candros. “Take a seat.”

Huxley visibly relaxed as everyone took their places and ordered drinks from the barmaid. Once all were served and conversation started again, Hoxley leaned in close to Rúna. “Speaking of Veleris, he’s poking around again.”

“Wait, he’s not over in Skovlan anymore?”

Hoxley shook his head, jowls shaking. “Got reassigned. He’s been asking questions about the army supplies. He asked me about the guns directly.”

Rúna put her drink down and turned to face Hoxley fully. “What did you say?”

“Nothing to be worried about. I’ve got Veleris swimming in paperwork now. It has all the right stamps and signatures. He’s not a clue about what really happened. I can handle any official requests, we’re still in business for the moment.” He tried to give a reassuring smile.

Rúna cocked her head to the side, considering the information. “Well, it seems we still have cause to celebrate.” She turned to the barmaid and shouted across the bar, “send a bottle over if you please.”

The girl had just about reached their table when the bottle dropped from her shaking hands. The smashing glass ripped Rúna’s attention away from people at the table and towards the door. Six men had entered, well dressed but with scarves covering the lower halves of their faces. They had grabbed a couple of patrons and were threatening with knives and clubs. Nearly everyone in the room started to scramble away from the confrontation.

A piercing whistle filled the room. As the sound faded away all motion had stopped while everyone looked towards the source. Rúna took her hand away from her mouth and adjusted her beaten-up hat. Once she was sure she had everyone’s attention she leaned back in her chair. “Oi. You lot.” She gestured towards the intruders with a half-full shot glass. One of them, with piercing blue eyes, pulled back his jacket to reveal a hip-holstered flintlock pistol. Rúna raised an eyebrow and continued. “It seems you must have made a mistake. Me and mine were just having a friendly drink here. I don’t think you meant to interrupt?” She opened her own jacket wide to reveal a bandolier of throwing knives and a pistol of her own. “I expect you meant to go somewhere else? Yes?”

Blue-eyes continued to stare at Rúna. The other intruders nervously looked between Rúna and Blue-eyes. The silence stretched on until he jerked a thumb towards the door. All the intruders let go of their victims and slowly backed towards the door, eyes never leaving Rúna or her companions. At the bar, Clevin was slowly standing up. Blue-eyes was the last to leave, and threw a dark look back into the room at Rúna. The message was clear: this wasn’t over.

Once the intruders had passed out of sight, the room erupted into motion once more. Some patrons checked on their roughed up friends, while others relieved stress with boasts and taunts at the now departed men. Cheers, questions, congratulations all flew through the air. The barmaid came and stood by the table. She looked at them all and came to a decision. “Drinks on the house for you lot. Those bastards had it coming.”

* * *

The Charhollow markets were a bustle of activity. The central square had been filled with cluttered stalls for as long as anyone could remember, a maze alleys that shifted over time as new merchants came to trade, and old ones left. Children scuttled between the adults as they crowded through the colourful lanes of fabric, foods, handicrafts, and other assorted wares. Touters yelled their special offers, and customers argued over quality. Rúna hated the confusion. People brushing against her from every side, threatening movements wherever she looked. Every hand ready to take her purse or stab a knife into her side. But no-one was able to give any solid information about the thugs from the Drunk Frog, and everyone had said to come speak to Briggs.

Briggs called himself a broker, but Rúna preferred the term gossip. Only Briggs expected to be paid for his whispered lies. He owned a ramshackle building in the centre of the market, and there he sat like a spider in his web. The structure looked drunk, leaning on the neighbouring stalls for support and Rúna expected it to collapse at any moment. There was a small iron stove smoking in one corner with a tray of dried out pies sitting on top. A round face emerged, red and shiny with sweat. He looked more like a pig fattened for a celebration dinner. A pig with a silly little round hat and too small suit. “Hello ladies. Can I interest you in a pie? Fresh today.” Briggs beamed at the two women. Rúna closer at the pies. Perhaps freshly reheated today, but there was nothing about them that spoke to freshness, unless he meant freshly died. 

Khara smiled and gave a little bow to the puffing man. “It is known that all who seek sustenance for the mind find satisfaction with your repast.”

Brigg’s smile grew even wider, but his piggish eyes remained cold. “Oh you do flatter m’lady. But I am always happy when my whispers are of value.”

Khara glanced over at Rúna, who nodded. Khara continued, “We do have an interest in certain whispers, especially if those whispers tell of angry men who have been assaulting our neighbours in Charhollow,” she pointed at Rúna’s red hair, “especially of the more northern persuasion.”

Briggs took off his spectacles and tried to polish them with his waistcoat, but only managed to spread the streaks further across the glass. He paused for effect before settling them back upon his nose. “I think I know who you are after. That little band of troublemakers who spout such witticisms as “Skov go home” while waving sharp implements?” Both ladies nodded. “Yes. They sometimes wander these very streets, side by side with upstanding local workers. Can you imagine they once tried to smash this very construction you stand within? Just because I served one large Skovlan gentleman. Pfah, ignorant brutes.”

Rúna leaned in close. “Can you tell us who these brutes are?”

Briggs held out his hand, palm up, and rubbed his fingers together. Where is the coin?

Both the women had hoped to avoid this. Khara nudged Rúna to speak up. “Would you take trade?”

“Ohh, interesting. I am always open to trade, if the information is good.” He wiped his hands on his apron and sat down, inviting the others to sit with him. 

Khara took a proffered seat and smoothed out her dress. She leaned on his arm and whispered into his ear. “There is a rumour going about a group of concerned locals who brought some percussive justice to those very ignorant brutes you talked about”

Briggs leaned back in surprise. He glanced between the two women. “You?”

“And some friends. We are just as concerned as you are about opportunities for honest merchants threatened by these thugs.” Khara opened her fan and tried to disperse the smell of the pies. 

Briggs gave a gap-toothed smile. “In that case, a little whisper won’t hurt. The thugs you are interested in are not just random troublemakers. Yes, they pop up at various places and scare people into handing over money or moving away. But the more interesting fact is that the vacated premises are rapidly bought. By a number of mercantile interests. But all those interests belong to Lord Templeton.” He winked at Khara and stood. “I think you can work with that.” 

As they walked back through the crowded marketplace, the women tried to work out their next moves. “I feel I know the perfect person to ask about Templeton. Lady Anya Hartigan. She is the most delicious gossip. Married to some government cog in Charterhall and positively starving for good conversation. I will pay her a visit, no?”

Rúna grunted. “Sounds great. I’ll find the others and set them hunting our new friends.”

Home Delivery, pt2

Khara clapped her hands in delight and skipped across the pier. “It is so cute! Just like a gondola, but with a little smoke pipe!”

I stared at the wooden toy tied up to the pier. There was a tiny deckhouse that probably hid the steam boiler, and a smoke that stack barely came up to my chest. “What. Is. This?”

The old man finished tying the boat to the bollard and hopped across to the pier. The steam-boat visibly bounced in the water as he left. He stretched his back and I could hear the popping noises. It was the white-player from Keller’s. “This, is your boat.” He beamed and spread his arms over the low deckhouse. “Freshly stolen from the Strangford Shipping Company.” He gave a conspiratorial wink and leaned closer to me. “He won’t notice it gone for at least another three weeks. His old ironside is out collecting Leviathan Blood right now. This little launch was just sitting there waiting to be borrowed.”

“But, we need to carry these!” I pointed out the four crates of guns, neatly stacked up in the shadows at the end of the pier. The old man looked across and shrugged. 

“Not my problem. You asked for a boat.” He pointed at the toy bobbing in the river. “One boat.” He wiped his hands on his shirt front and then patted the still hot smokestack. “She’s all warmed up and raring to go. Have fun!”

“Wait, you can’t just,” but he had already disappeared into the tunnels beneath Gaddock Station. “Well…”

Khara hopped onto the deck. “Look in here, all these little valves and dials. I wonder what they all do.”

I leaned next to Khara and peeked inside. Nope, no room for the crates. Shit.

* * *

I felt sick. Again. The deck wouldn’t stay still as I struggled to tie down the canvas covering. I grabbed the railing, almost falling into the Dusk river. “Khara! Go straight!” I yelled over my shoulder.

Khara sat at the tiller, whistling some cheerful tune. All the lamps were lit. She looked up at the sound of my voice and waved back. As other boats passed nearby she waved to them as well. “Isn’t this just lovely Rúna? Fresh air, stars, all the friendly people in their colourful boats. So relaxing.”

“They are all so friendly because you are barely wearing anything more than that robe! And your leg over the side must be a real favourite of the sailors.” Just then a pair in a passing riverboat wolf-whistled at Khara. She blew them a kiss.

My stomach heaved as the boat swung around. “Keep your hands on the tiller!” I hunkered down at the bow, holding tightly to the both raised sides. The ink-black river was less than a foot away from my hands, it was anxious to grab me and submerge us all. I could see the lights of the Gaddoc Bridge reflected in the water’s surface, and hear the roaring clacks of a steam engine crossing above us. The minor constellations of boat running lights passed by either side of us. “Stop waving at everyone”. I watched Khara, in her little spotlit perch, giving benedictions to the rapt sailors. Did she never feel out of place?

“But they are all so friendly. Look, they are waving back!” She grinned and waved faster.

A lamp shone in my face. I looked across at the approaching lights. The boat was only a shape behind the lights. Low, heavy, and bulky. A pair of men were waving to get our attention and make us slow down. Bluecoat river patrol. Just our luck. The wind stole their words away from me, but I could guess. A loud ripping sound pulled my attention. I saw the end of a rope snake away into the water, and a sheet of canvas flapping in the wind. I turned around fully, horrified at the sight of the exposed crates.

Across the water, one of the Bluecoats turned his attention to the crates, the light now strongest around the lettering. I saw his friend taking a spyglass from his pocket. 

“Khara. Faster. Now!”

“How?”

The steam engine. I dived back into the low deckhouse and tried to understand the array of brass levers and dials. There was tiny akerosi script plastered behind the little glass dials, but I couldn’t stop the letters from jumping around. One large wheel looked particularly well worn. I spun it until it stopped moving. The hiss of steam pistons grew much faster. I fell backwards at the surge of speed. The whole boiler was rattling now, drowning out the sound of the waves running along the sides of the boat.

“Bye bye handsome men!” 

An amplified voice broke through the cacophony of engine sounds. “Vehicle with the crates! You will slow and present paperwork for transport!”

I rubbed my bruised head and twisted to look back at Khara. “What is going on up there?” All I could see was a madly grinning woman framed by the doorway as she pulled the tiller from side to side. I struggled to haul myself back on deck, banging against the doorframe with each step. I looked over the deckhouse only to see a wooden cliff come out of the darkness. I snatched my hand away from the sides just before we scraped along the hull of the giant ship.

“Are you insane?”

“We have plenty of room.”

“What!” 

The wooden piles of the Ironhook Pier passed only a hands breath away from the other side. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable crunch and coming water. After a moment Khara started giggling. “You wanted to go faster. The river was blocked and you didn’t seem interested in those two lovely gentlemen from the authorities.” I had no words. “This is just like the little steam-launch back at my parents’ estates. But faster!”

I cracked open an eye. The Bluecoat patrol was blocked by the bulk of river barges. I crawled across the deck towards the uncovered crates. I dragged the now wet canvas back over them and tied the ropes more securely. I dropped into the bow, jamming my feet against the crates to hod me securely in place. Facing back towards Khara I didn’t dare to let go for fear of being tossed overboard at every bounce. 

Suddenly I was blinded. I held up my hand to block the worst of the glare. Our two friends were back. “Khara, get off the river!”.

I grabbed at a straining rope as the boat suddenly heeled right. I was half out of the boat, my foot bouncing in the water. By the time I scrambled back aboard The bollard poles and tied up boats were passing on either side of us as we steamed towards the narrow canals leading into Charhollow. Dozens of narrow barges were lining the sides of the narrow canal. In between a few early morning boatmen rowed.

I yelled “Clear a path!” A few faces turned towards me, but most seemed oblivious. “Khara, slow down. Its too narrow!”

“How”.

The valve. Shit.

I flung myself down the boat. I was thrown about the boiler room as we were battered by the moored boats tearing along our sides. I heard something crashing and the cursing of angry sailors. I caught a glimpse of Kharas white knuckles straining at the tiller.

“I can’t make this turn.” Oh. Finally she panics.

All my muscles screamed as the brass wheel turned. I kept turning until it froze. I saw a number of dials moving towards red lines. I could feel the boat slowing and saw Khara pull the tiller all the way into her chest. Then came a crash and I was thrown backwards into the wall of deals and levers. The stream of cursing above was too fast to follow, especially with the thick Akerosi accents. My back was being scalded by the hot boiler. I dragged myself back outside.

Khara was babbling to the nearby sailors as I poked my head outside. I could see that the bow was cracked and I could hear the hissing of steam as river water sprayed onto the boiler.

“Khara…”

“Yes, shush.” She turned back to a brute of a sailor in front of her. “Please, do what you can”

What? The sailor stepped onto the deck beside her, and the front of the boat shot up out of the water. I felt the doorframe smack into my head again.

“Don’ you worry missus. I’ll ‘ave dis sorted out in a jiffy.”

A massive hand grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me out of the deckhouse. “Scuse me, not much room in dere.” He folded himself into the doorway. I heard metallic squeals as worked on the engine. He squeezed an arm out and waved to Khara “Just poin’er in the right direction.” The screw beneath the hull started spinning again.

Behind us, the canal was filled with a churning mass of watercraft. Everyone was yelling. I looked at my hands, they kept trembling.

I hate boats.

* * *

The darkness under the bridge was only broken by a single lamp resting on the crates. Clevin, our giant sailor friend, was sitting on the pier looking up at Khara like an oversized puppy. I was staring at the mists beginning to rise from the river. Then the Iruvian voices broke in.

It was the guide from the Temple. His red-sashed companions emerged from the darkness without a sound. The stick of a man took out some expensive looking spectacles and polished them carefully. Once they were settled on his nose he leaned in to inspect the crates. He pointed to the second one and his companions jumped to his request, removing the top crate and levering off the lid with a crowbar. His eyes widened.

“Beautiful.” He looked at me and arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, they are all there. Everything on the list.”

“Most excellent.” He gave a short hiss and the others rushed to collect the four crates. Only a few heartbeats later and the bespectacled man was left alone. “The Lady Klev is most grateful. It is a pleasure to deal with such professionals. I bowed low as Khara had taught me. A large man appeared out of the shadows carrying a large chest under one arm. He handed it to Khara, who almost dropped it. “We look forward to our next transaction.” He bowed and backed away into the darkness.

Khara and I stared at the box in her hands. “So, ‘ows dis supposed to work den?” Clevin interrupted.

“We shall return our boat and continue our discussions in more comfortable surroundings.” Khara responded without turning to look at the brute.

“Huh. No we won’t.” Clevin scratched his backside as I heard the gurgling sound from the river. The stern of the boat had disappeared beneath the inky waters, and the bow was slowly following. As we watched in silence, the boat settled at the bottom, smokestack still peeking out above the waves, puffing out some last streamers of smoke. “Reckon youse will ‘ave to do some explanationing.” He smiled.

Khara shrugged. “It was more of an unofficial loan.”

Clevin’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Oh. No worries then.” He looked down at Khara expectantly. “So when do I get mine?”

Even I could tell that Khara was nervous. What exactly had she offered to get this giant to help us? At least he was in a good mood, so far. “I have to ask, are you free to help out with extra… work in future?” I held my breath.

Clevin looked away from Khara and frowned at me. “You mean like today?”

“Yes and no. But other things that might need some muscle.” He grunted. He looked between the two of us, eyes lingering on the box. Khara tried to place it on the floor, but it thudded down. I knelt and took out a few coins. “I think this might be a fair share for tonight.” It was more that a few days wages for a sailor.

Clevin stared at the silver lying in his hand, and reassessed the pair of us. I could almost hear the stones dropping in his skull. “Right den.” He pulled a mostly empty pouch from inside his shirt and dropped the coins inside. He smiled at the clinking sound they made. “Where would I find you?”

“You know Kellen’s”

“The old Skov place in Charhollow?” I nodded. “I can drop by when I’m off work.” He tipped his cap to Khara. “Mornin’ to you both. Gotta get back ‘afore the fog rolls in.”

Khara looked at the box filled with coins. Then looked at me. We both grinned.

Home Delivery, pt1

I felt ill.

It was one thing to spend too much coin celebrating and drinking, but then to suffer the consequences while trapped in a gondola was excessive. At the boatman’s every stroke I held tightly to the sides of the rocking boat, watching the inky waters slide past. In contrast to my own near-panic at being on the water, Khara was lounging at the other end of the gondola, making small talk with the boatman. How could she be so relaxed?

“How to get final payment?”

They both went silent at my snapped question. Khara gave the boatman a hesitant glance. “Perhaps we could get some breakfast?”

My stomach roiled. “Not hungry. Will dragon-lady make us wait?”

Khara squinted at me a moment before turning back to the boatman. “Take us to Fogcrest if you please.” She sat even further into the cushioned seat and looked straight at me. Each time I thought of something to say she would shake her head slightly. 

After a nauseating trip across the Dusk river and through the canals of Silkshore, the boatman skilfully brought the gondola to a stop against the piers of Fogcrest island. A maze of multi-storey buildings twisted up into the dark skies, confusing my vision with mosaics and ornate stonework at every turn. The canals were quiet at this time of the morning… or evening. Khara led us to the nearest house, although it was closer to a small palace than what I was used to calling a home. It looked squeezed between the neighbouring buildings, everything narrow and too tall, arches too pointed. The black wooden door stood out against the pinkish stucco facade. It looked very closed for the night. But Khara’s knocking and staccato commands brought a servant to guide us through the dim hallways and up a never-ending stone staircase.

I began to wish I’d brought something larger than my boot-knife when we were led though a pair of peeling wooden doors. I actually felt like I’d been hit over the head by something, as I stopped and stared slack jawed. The rooftop terrace was invisible from the canals but was roofed in trellises of plant-life, vines and flowers which exuded faint illumination. I let my hand drift through the golden fog, the glowing motes twisting after the passage of my hand. It felt like I’d walked into some dream of a world where magic blossomed under the as yet undimmed sun. Silks, velvet and gilded wood surrounded us. 

“Where are we?”

A waiter gently took my elbow and turned me towards a balcony table. “This is the House of the Golden Orchid. Be at ease honoured guests of Lord Ankhayat. Are you breaking your fast, or supping before retiring?”

I let myself be seated while Khara discussed the finer points of tea. I stared over the handrail towards Ankhayat park, and the rest of the city of Duskvol laid out beyond it. The glimmer of electroplasm streetlights echoed the constellations above. This place didn’t feel like it belongs in the real world of blood and shit. My hand jerked as something brushed against it.

“You must try this infusion while it still steams!” Khara pointed to the delicate cup of pink liquid.

“I had no idea…”

She sipped delicately and sighed in pleasure. “Few do. Ankhayat keeps this house. It is always open to those who know how to ask for entry.” She took a deep breath of steam. “So few know the proper forms these days.”

I felt like a thorn bush draped with silk sheets. The few scattered patrons were wearing rings that were more valuable than everything I owned, let alone the rest of their jewellery and clothing. They were hiding it well, but I could feel the heat of their attention on my ragged outfit. I tried to comb my hair with my fingers.

“What are we doing here Khara?” I hissed.

“We are being seen. Unlike your outburst on the gondola, here we will not be overheard. Unless you start shouting again.” She frowned and batted at my hand. “Stop that. Eat something. Start with the infusion, then try some sweat meats, and finish with the spiced coffee.” She moved plates around in front of me. My mouth started to water.

“This… Did Mylera say how she would collect the guns?”

Khara spiked the morsels on a sliver of wood, and spoke in between mouthfuls. “No. She will need to find out who else is watching. Decide where is safest, pay bribes, and so on. She will send a message to us. This is why we will visit this place for breakfast over the coming days. We must be seen.” Upon finishing the sweetmeats she held the spiced-coffee in both hands and breathed deeply. “She will be subtle, as all Iruvians are. We must be alert for the signs all around. We must understand her subtle message when it appears.”

The waiter dropped the envelope on the table between us. “Yes, very subtle.”

I had noticed a familiar figure, the blade-thin Iruvian from the Temple, the guide. He had passed the letter across to the waiter along with whispered words before disappearing into another archway.

I smiled at Khara’s pretence of dignity. “What is it saying?”

Khara returned a scathing look. “It says oh so much, but you will of course understand everything,” and flicked the opened note into my lap.

Far Nightroad. Arch of 10 eyes.

I frantically tried to make sense of the words. “Um, there is Knights road in Whitecrown?”

She looked at me as I might look at a lost child. “The Nightroad is the name smugglers give their secret ways. The basements, half-sunken tunnels, and secret doorways to the canals. The far refers to the end, of the night. When the good people of this city, what few that there are, are still asleep and dreaming of the profits of the next day. Best time for business. The Arch of 10 eyes…” she paused and touched her lips, “that would refer to the five statues on the west bridge from Charhollow to Crow’s Foot. I can still remember the fuss everyone made when someone dropped the sixth onto a passing barge.”

She gave a little nod, very pleased with herself, “and you overlooked the perfume.”

I held the paper to my nose. There was something sweet, something like the tea we’d just drunk.

“It is the bright mantis-petal flower. It signifies the completion of a agreement, and the hope for future prosperity. Mylera likes us. We can expect a nice payment.”

“All that…” I looked at the delicate paper barely bigger than my hand. Khara grinned.

“Now drop it in the tea. It will dissolve. We have until sunrise to transport your… our guns.”

* * *

“It is not the time to be drinking,” Khara leaned back to take in the looming stone facade of Keller’s. My mouth could already taste the bitter sting of demon-fish, and the smell of smoke, wood, and tar surrounded the building. Home. 

“Not drinking, talking.”

“Khara raised an eyebrow. “Who are we talking to?”

“Siggi”.

He was the local power in Charhollow. Maybe even further afield. Every Skovlan born refugee who came to this gods-forsaken hole called Duskvol was pointed at Siggi. In another life he might have been a clan Uncle back in Skovlan, but he’d been born here in Duskvol to refugees, a local son who tried to live true to the beliefs of his old country. “We will never carry boxes across city. We need way to transport. Siggi will provide.”

Khara’s posture changes as we passed through the doorway. The low ceilings and dim candlelight obscured the handful of men and women scattered among the room’s alcoves, but all eyes focused on the Iruvian who strode in like she owned the building. I nodded at Sif as she sauntered towards us. She returned a friendly smile and indicated Khara 

“She’s a close friend.” Sif accepted my explanation and pointed us towards a corner table. A pall of smoke hung above it. A few older met crouched over the table, intently watching a game of Tafl. Just beyond them say Siggi.

He looked up as we approached. “Such a fine sight! Rúna returns to the fold, and brings such lovely company.” The other two smiled, but didn’t look away from their game. “What brings you back? Looking for work again?”

Khara calmly pulled up a chair and looked over the game. The scattered red soldiers surrounded the white clansmen and their mother. It wasn’t looking good for the white player. I placed my hands on Khara’s shoulders and leaned forward. I shrugged and continued in Skovic “You were pretty definite about not hiring soldiers like me. You said something about needing to show goodwill? Well, you’ve seen me helping out at the weekend kitchens.”

He nodded, his smile still failing to reach his eyes.

“So I need to ask a favour.”

The two men finally looked away from their game while Siggi’g expression grew serious. He wagged his finger at me. “No no little sister. From the day you walked off the train I could see you were a danger to yourself and those around you. I will not risk my position by wearing your colours.”

Khara felt my hands tighten on her shoulders. She couldn’t have understood what we said, but probably understood better the nuances of what had happened around the table. She gave my hand a pat, then leaned forward.

“I think white will win.” She waved her hand over the boardgames. There were only a few Clansman pieces surrounding the Mother. On all other side the red soldiers massed. Siggi narrowed his eyes, measuring Khara while the white player spoke up. “So kind of you to say my blossom. But I am in a weak position. This outcome will not happen.”

“On no,” she gently touched his hand. “You see it is only when you look weak that you can truly win. This man…” she pointed at the red player, “…is such a big, strong boy.” He preened. “He feels he must win. I see him move so quickly. He does not think about anything other that the next move. He is so certain. But…” she gently touched the tall Mother-piece, “I am sure she will find her way out. All you need is some incentive.”

Siggi´s frown deepened.

The silver coin slowly spun to a stop. Two more followed. I couldn’t swallow anymore. That was the last of the money that Mylera had paid us. How had it gone so quickly? The two men looked at the coins, then towards Siggi. He scratched his beard. “You are not wrong little one. The least among us are often overlooked.” He reached across and picked up the coins. “I’ll take that wager, but I am sure I will win. Where shall I collect my winnings?”

Yes. Siggi knew many people, including sailors and dockworkers. He would find something for us. “At Gaddoc station pier."

Red Sales, pt3

“Come on, stop messing around. Open it already!”

“Fuck you Ish.” I tried again to pull apart the box. There were no hinges or lock on the damn thing.

“Bring the candle up here so I can see what I’m doing”. Khara leant forward, holding the candle and letting the wax drip down on my hands. She giggled.

“It is not the strength you must use. Look”.

I growled.

Ish pulled the box out of my hands. “Let the expert try.”

“You are having experience with delicate little things?” Khara raised an eyebrow and looked at Ish’s pants. Both of us laughed at his glare.

“I’ll have you know that…”

“The box Ish”.

He turned it over in his hands, examining every side. He tapped it “Aha! You only see a plain box, but if you just twist the corner, and” He hunched over the box like a stage magician over his top hat. I heard a click and suddenly Ish flourished the box before us with one hand. The other hand held the lid. But the only thing I really saw was the row of Imperials Lunes. A neat row of silver coins nestled in the centre of the box, reflected candlelight gleaming white on the bevelled edges. Both the others were also hypnotised by the wealth.

“This is just the holding fee?”

Khara nodded. These were uncut coins, not the little slugs of silver we normally saw. This would keep us in food and candles for months, if not longer. Never had I seen that much coinage in one place. OK, I lie, but never that much which I could claim was mine. My cheeks were hurting from the grin I couldn’t stop. The three of us exchanged a knowing look.

“Celebrate?” we said in unison. Then broke down laughing.

Ish walked over to the stack of railway sleepers that we were using as tables. Atop lay the Imperial armoury crates. The stamps on the sides warned of illusionary punishment if opened. I slid the lid aside and looked inside. “Almost a shame to sell them, but we don’t really need so many, do we?”

The five Imperial Forge model 17 long-barreled rifles sat side by side, accompanied by powder, shot, maintenance kits, and last, but not least, the grenades. The three still unopened crates promised more of the same. I carefully took out one of the grenades.

“I promised Steini one of these for his help.” My cheeks began to hurt again. “I can’t wait to see his reaction.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t try to pull it apart, they have a tendency to explode” Ish’s grin told me he was going to try exactly that as soon as I had left.

I pocketed the grenade and replaced the crate lid. Khara was reading the writing on the side. She tapped the letters written near the top. “This explains Mylera’s downpayment. The Bluecoats will not be looking for us. This is Ministry business.” She looked worried.

“But just imagine what we’ll be paid for the actual crates!” The small grin reappeared.

“This is correct. Mylera would never be so crass as to fail to keep a promise. The shame would follow her for years.”

Ish laughed. “Gods bless the Iruvians and their excessive honour!”

“Honour? Oh devils no. It is reputation. This is all that keeps society working. With no reputation, no one will speak to her. If no one speaks to her, then she can do nothing.” She nodded, looking serious, “No one would risk this embarrassment.”

Both Ish and I nodded sagely at this more understandable reasoning.

I put the grenade in my frock-coat. “So where do we meet?”

“There is only one place to celebrate correctly on a night like this. We must visit The Veil.” Khara ran her hands down her sides “Although I will need to exchange these rags”.

I blinked. My frock-coat was the best thing I owned, and it made me look like a beggar in comparison to Khara. She noticed my nervous look. “You do have something more appropriate?” I remained silent. “Well then,” she took off my weather beaten hat and ran her free hand through my blood-red hair, “We can work with this.” She paused while a sly smile grew on her face. “Perhaps you will convince your man to join us?”

“Steini? No. He would’t… No, he has his own things. I couldn’t…”

Khara giggled. “Run along my new companion in crime. Go and bring your… friend his present.”

My face was burning.

* * *

It would be faster to just kick in the door. The key finally caught the lock and the door clicked open. No one was home. Steini’s rifle and kit were hanging in his rough hammock, but his jacket and hat were not on the coat hanger by the door. Probably out for a quick meal. I peeled a corner of newspaper away from the window. No one lurking on the street. I went over to the table, moving aside the plates to leave the grenade in the centre of the table. A nightmare apple waiting to send someone into oblivion.

My kit was lying across my threadbare bedroll. I pulled out the few articles of clothing I had. The blouse would look somewhat presentable, but Khara would scream if I wore the shooting gloves to a ‘society’ event. There were some spare leather ties and a mirror. I looked at the door and tried to guess how long Steini had been gone. His wardrobe opened with a strong pull and revealed his collection of Akarosi fashions. At the back was his old Blackvale uniform jacket. I think the oversize coat would look better than mine.

I setup my tiny hand-mirror at the table. My hair had grown in the last months, and my temples were no longer bare. At least that hid obvious tattoos along the side of my head. Slowly, with much cursing, I tied the longer hair into a braid that ran back like a crest to my shoulders. A blood-red tail tied off with leather laces. The fuzz above my ears was annoying, but it wouldn’t look too unusual while wearing a hat. None of Steini’s would fit properly though, so I stuck with my old weather beaten one.

The chimes called out the 10^th hour. How did it get so late, and where the hell is Steini? A quick once over in the hand-mirror showed enough to leave me satisfied. Khara would probably still complain. Still no one on the street. I crossed the hallway and knocked on the door. Mrs Thropthwaite spent her days watching the passers-by on the streets and hallway, and complaining to anyone who would listen about falling moral standards. May as well put her hobbies to good use.

Her piggish eyes stared up at me from behind the protection of her doorway. “There are no men of low morals seeking company here young woman. Just go back into the fogs.”

My boot stopped the door before it slammed shut. “I sorry ma’am, have you been seeing Mr Arnarsson from across hallway?” Ish would be proud of my self control.

“That rude Skov?”

Sigh. “Yes. Cousin. I worry.”

Her whole face wrinkled as she gave me further scrutiny. Once she worked out who I was, or maybe just decided to spread some gossip to some strange woman, she opened the door a little and continued. “Oh yes, that ratty gentleman went outside not two hours ago. You have to understand I use the term gentleman in the loosest possible sense and I am sure that he owns no property or rents, and no true gentleman would keep the company I have seen passing by my very own door.”

She paused, staring at my face. Damn, I must have let something slip.

“Yes. You seeing where he go?”

She huffed. “See? Certainly not. What kind of woman do you think I am, spying on people and intruding on their business.” Yes exactly. “But a trio of men from the constabulary met him at the gate and seemed very insistent that he join them for a stroll. I wouldn’t dream of guessing the reasoning behind their request…” she just couldn’t stop the sly wink, “but I do believe that man capable of all manner of conduct. I would advise a young woman like yourself to avoid entanglement with such company…”

Bluejackets. Two hours and I’d been braiding my bloody hair? 

I left Mrs Thropthwaite giving her sermon. Steins’s long-rifle was too obvious, but the grenade was just begging to come for a walk in the night.

* * *

The Charhollow watch house had seen better days, especially with the street kids daring each other to throw rocks at the too-often replaced windows. No one liked the bluejackets, and in this predominantly Skovlander neighbourhood they were especially brutal. We never saw a blond or red-head wearing the uniform, only walking in while cuffed. Officially they were paid by the Ministry of Protection so that they would enforce the laws of the Empire. Practically they were just another gang running a whole series of protection rackets, they just happened to be better paid than most. I’d heard they picked a name out of a hat every night to blame whatever recent crime had come to the attention of the Ministry.

The blue spark-lights above the main doors reminded me to calm down. I slowed to a walk and took a few deep breaths. I still felt the hot flush from the run through the maze of alleyways to get here. The doors were open. A good toss and the grenade would take out a few rooms of bluejackets and cause a right mess. Climb in a back window and grab Steini, then out.

Only problem, I had no idea where he was, or any of the layout of the building for that matter.

I was waiting for a better idea to show itself then Steini came swaggering out the front door. His escort whispered in his ear before unlocking the cuffs and pushing him into the road. Steini threw a rude gesture back at the building. He raised his collar against the cold and adjusted his tricorne hat. The brief glow of a spark-lighter illuminated his bruised face and swollen eye. He had to grab my arms to stop from being bowled over by my hug.

“What, by the inky depths, happened?” I asked in skovik.

He grimaced. “I had my monthly massage. I reckon they’re better that the Iruvian sisters down the docks”

I threatened to punch him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get all lovey-dovey. They didn’t ask anything even vaguely interesting. Not even about the Lampblack dustup. They’re just looking for someone to pin for the fires last week. I guess my name came up in the weekly lottery.” He tried to grin again.

“Thanks. I guess this belongs to you.” I showed him the grenade pinned to the inside of my jacket. Well, his jacket.

“Oh, trying to get me under your clothing,” he stared at the coat, “hang on. Why are you wearing my coat?”

I slapped his back and led him back towards Nightmarket district. “This deserves a drink. Or three. Snowflake is throwing a little party for us at the Veil.”

“Who?”

“The Iruvian missy that was with us.”

“Oh, she’s cute. Anything going on there?”

I forced a smile. “I think you are a little old for her, but I’ll enjoy watching you flail about…”

Red Sales, pt2

The boy scurried along. I only spotted glimpses of him, dodging between the legs of the late night crowds or darting beside the goat-drawn carriages on the streets. He would have made a fortune as a cutpurse. I would have ignored the urchin, just one amongst many were it not for his destination. He stopped in the shadow of a ornate gateway, kneeling to whisper to someone in the shadows. The gateway of the Temple of the Four Winds. 

Our destination.

The temple had once been the estate of a noble Akerosi family. They had gone the way of all honour in this country, disappearing, and leaving their debts to the banks. Some Iruvian immigrants had purchased it decades ago. Now it served as a religious and social centre for the many Iruvians who made their living so far from their homes. More importantly it was the home of the Red Sash fighting school. I’d seen their number around town, always wearing their ridiculous red silk sashes. More often than not stained with their own cooling blood as the Spirit Wardens came to collect the bodies. Our new friends the Lampblacks were appealing to popular ignorance by attacking the most obvious foreigners they could see. Watching the Iruvian’s fight was glorious, twisting, leaping, slashing. But normally ending with a scrummage of Lampblacks kicking the crap out of the lonely foreigner.

Why fight fair if you can win by cheating? The Lampblacks weren’t stupid at least.

There seemed to be an opening to even the odds though. Which is why I was now following Snowflake towards the temple gates. Ish had said it was a perfect opportunity. He normally was better at this sort of thing.

Crouched in the shadow of the gate, the urchin looked up at us as we passed. His formerly invisible companion was an ancient man smoking a pipe that reached down to his crossed legs. The embers glowed with each breath of smoke, illuminating his long wisp of a beard and deeply crevassed face. As I stared at this antique he looked right at me with a pair of smokey white eyes. He tapped below one eye with the mouthpiece of his pipe. We saw what you did being the unspoken message.

Over the decades the Iruvians had tried to refurbish the building. The eaves were wider than was usual in Duskvol, and parts of the walls had had images carved in them, which resulted in the feeling that hundreds of figures were staring out at me from strange faces. Inside was even worse, with walls missing and no real doors anywhere. It left me longing for the good solid stonework of home. I kept glancing upwards, feeling that the upper floors and roof would collapse on me at any moment. In passing, I saw one room filled with kneeling men and women giving out a collective murmur that made my head ache. They were offering incense to a four armed, two faces statue. There might have been knives? I shook my head and tried to remember the plan.

* * *

“Everything is a test, and we can’t fail any of them.” Khara stoof with hands on hips, staring down the two of us. I tried to smother a smile, but her frown told me I had failed. This tiny stick of a girl who I could lift with one arm was stamping her foot in anger.

“You Akarosi and Skovs love to fight all the time, like roosters squawking in a barnyard. In Iruvia when knives appear, someone dies.” I tried to take her seriously, but imagined her trying to lift one of my clan war-swords. She’d topple forward. Ish elbowed my ribs.

“Right, keep my hands away from my weapons.” 

Khara hissed and clenched her tiny fists. “It is not just what you do not do. It is everything you do! How you stand, sit, follow, speak. The way you look around a room.” She reached forward and slapped my hand away from my face. “That would mean you thought my argument smelled like your outhouse.”

My cheeks grew hot.

“So what should we be saying?” 

Khara looked at Ish and cocked her head, thinking. “Perhaps it will be simplest if you say nothing. I talk.”

“Hang on, we’re the ones who have the merchandise, we should…”

“… Be the ones to ruin it all by flapping your fat lips” Khara flapped her hands in the air. “No, I’m from a noble house and this Mylera Klev is not. It is against custom to try to haggle with a noble, and the head of a school would never be so vulgar.” She smiled. “She will know how valuable your merchandise is.”

* * *

Khara was at home. She seemed to have grown up to my shoulder, and walked down these hallways like a queen with shoulders back and chin forward. The attendants bowed low and kept their eyes on her feet. It was… impressive.

I had no idea of what she was saying, but she knew the plan. Everyone was ignoring Ish and I while we trailed behind. We were led through a courtyard, its sandy floor crunching underfoot. There were speckles of blood still visible in the sand, and the imprint of bodies. A training ground used for real training. The variety of sharp implements on the surrounding walls reinforced this impression. The axes looked especially vicious.

A curtained alcove was opened for us by a huge attendant. His bare chest tattooed with artistic imagery and script. I had no idea of what it meant, but by his proud display I guessed he was not to be fucked with. The wide, curved desk was a work of art in itself. The subtle inlays of precious metals, and all manner of papers, inks, and boxes neatly arrayed. Here sat a woman of importance. Her deep red robe glowed in the candlelight, thickly embroidered with gold thread. The twisting pattern was a scaled and rippling serpent with whiskers and a frill. The Wyrm of World’s End, or something resembling the old legend.

Watching this woman left me nervous. She reminded me too much of the Mothers of the Thorn Lady. Fierce eyes, measuring everything. Precise movements, hurting for no-one. This was a queen sitting in her throne, and we had dared to think we could swagger in and take her money?

The Snowflake started talking. I had no idea what she was saying as it all sounded like random sounds to me. Neither of their faces gave anything away either, false smiles and waving fingers. But the eyes of Mylera were sharp as swords. It was like watching a pair of hungry wolves circling a carcass, neither willing to start a fight, or to back away and be attacked. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. 

Ish stepped in. Again. He came up to the desk and gave an absurd Arkosian flourish of his hat, ending so bent over that his head was down at his knees. The muscles on the guard all flexed as his hand tightened on his sword hilt, but Mylera stopped his movement with a twitch of a finger.

Then she smiled. 

Well, more of an amused lip curl. But still progress.

“Lydra had said you have something of interest.” When no one else moved I figured out that this was a question for me. I fumbled the paper from my coat pocket and handed it to Khara. The Imperial registry form that came with our merchandise. The list of what we hoped to sell. The guard stepped forward and took the list from Khara. 

For a moment the world held it’s breath. Mylera had stopped her writing while the guard spoke, quill held stationary above the waiting paper. The she spoke a sharp phrase and the guard left the room with the list. What had happened? Both Khara and Mylera had the same frozen half smile on their faces. It didn’t reach either of their eyes. The guard reappeared bearing a small box, which he placed on the desk before Khara. Then the scratching of quill on paper resumed as Mylera ignored us again.

“The mistress requests that you hold our property for a period of one day. She offers thanks for recovering the legally purchased goods of the Red-Sash school. This is for the additional storage costs. An appropriate finders fee will be delivered tomorrow. Everyone bowed.

We did it?

Red Sales, pt1

I felt insulted

These Akerosi bastards weren't even trying. The ripples of fear and surprise marked their passage through the crowded street. I spotted the five of them seconds after we turned out of the lane. One lounging in a doorway, another pair at a market-stall, another beside a lamp-post, and the last smoking infront of a butcher's stall. Their lazy smiles reminded me of the Vargr, demon-dogs of my homeland, anticipating a new victim. Just waiting for us to run.

"Vargr" I wispered to Ishmael.

His bird-like frame stiffened and his head twitched. It was only a quick expression, but I imagined the memory behind it, of when we huddled around a campfire in the Skovlan highlands watching the grinning teeth of demon-dogs at the enge of the firelight, circling our warband. His eyes grew ever wider as he spotted each of the thugs getting ready to spring their "ambush".

"Bloomin' Lampblacks. Never were subtle. Five?"

"Five."

One dropped the snub of a cigar and crushed it beneath his heavy boot. He rolled his shoulders and swaggered across the street into our path. Finally our little Iruvian snowflake noticed. She gasped at the size of our new friend. Really belonged back in the embassy grounds, but we needed her to open the talks with the Red Sashes. Iruvians and their bloody high-minded manners. I heard her sniff in disgust at the thug. Had to agree with her. His clothing was a studied mis-match of styles, obviously intended to appeal to the "common man". I thought it was just trying a little too hard. But maybe it wasn't working, as the "common man" seemed to clear away from the street right quickly. I could smell the fear.

I casually walked closer. I saw his wink, and his friends sniggering. I looked like a victim to them. My left fist tightened. This bastard was in for a surprise.

***

Kellen's was a little reminder of home. The man Kellen, whoever he had been, must have shipped over some old timers from Skovlan. The whole place was built to feel like an old highlands longhouse. Stone blocks mortared with turf made the solid ground floor, while the steeply angled roof has a layer of soil, with some roots sticking through to add that country look. Even some of the mugs were carved from demon-fish bone. Even under the miasma of stale brew and sour sweat, I could still catch of scent of home.  

Steini sat opposite me, a plate of fermented demon-fish half finished between us. I stole another piece while he considered my request. Immediately the acid taste stabbed my senses, bringing tears to my eyes as it burned down my throat. I grabbed the fungal-brew from Streini's hand and washed down the burning. The aftertaste took too long, this Akerosi brew was too weak.

"You know i hate wandering into these gang tussels." He was picking up an Akerosi accent to go with his choice in clothing. But I could still see, peeking out from collar and sleeves, his clan-tattoos. He adjusted his sleeves and tightened his cravat.

"Jae jae, But still..." I started to quote "...at every doorway open your eyes..."

"...for the foe who sits beyond'. You always want to throw the old words at me Rúna", then swallowed another chunk of demon-fish and chased it with a shot of fungal-brew. He searched my face. "What are you trying to move that makes you so nervous?"

His words were slow, seeming unwilling to leave his mount. He knew that being so direct was rude, but I guess I owed him for letting me squat for the last few months in the tiny room he called home. "We..." I searched for a word, "...found a crate of Imperial goods". He waited. "stamped for the Regiments: long rifles, powder, shot..." his eyes widened "and some alchemical hand-bombs".

He coughed, nearly spilling the shot in his hand. "By the Shrouded Queen. You are not joking!" He considered the names and vulgarities scratched in the table between us, licking his lips and pulling at the mustache that drooped past his chin. He looked back at me frowning. I let loose the breath I'd been holding, now only waiting for his words of refusal.

"Ha!" He slammed the shot onto the table, alcohol jumping over the table. "Your mother was a fox! You know I've been looking for those little pretties for weeks. Give me one. A hand-bomb. Such fires I can make." He grinned. "I'll babysit for you."

There was nothing to think about. I grabbed his hand and pulled him close. The clan bind-rune on the back of his hand touched my nose, and mine his.

"Thank you Brother."

***

"Ello loverly. Where'd a pretty little peach like you be a'goin?" I could smell the spice-smoke on his breath, and the rotten smell from his yellowing teeth. Smelled like rat-coffin.

"I visit to friends, not you." I always hated the taste of Akerosi words. Sly things, always changing meaning. You needed to line them up just right to make them make sense. Like herding cats.

"Oh sweety, such a sad thing to say." I could feel his eyes roaming down. He licked his lips. "Well my peach, lets see if I cant change your mind. Me and my boys can be very friendly." I heard his giggling friends but never took my eyes away from the talking one. An image of jeering Akerosi soldiers standing above me, the cage of their legs not blocking the white face of my dead companions...

His hand came up and stroked across my shoulder.

I don't remember moving, but my hand was suddenly between us, knife only inches away from his eye. His meaty fist clenched around my wrist. The other four still blinking in surprise.

Of course Ish stepped in. He pushed me back and stood between us. But it was Snowflake's silky voice that caught our attention "This will be something to see. They say that your manhood shrivels up just like that" her hand made a very graphic gesture. "I always wanted to know. They say the marked highlanders worship the Lady of Thorns". Khara slithered around the thug, her light touch pulling his eyes along his arm and onto mine. "They say many things, but it is known that the brave Akerosi do not listen to their whispers." Her hand slowly pulled back my wide sleeves, revealing the knotwork tattoos along the length of my right arm. "Lets not get too excited here. She's just a might jumpy, what with surviving the war and all." Ish said.

The thug stared at my arm. His eyes showed white for a second. I started to raise my left hand. The thug pushed me away then turned on Ish. 

I'm still confused by Ish. He never flinched. The thug's weight shifted onto his back foot. His shoulder dropped. Even Snowflake could see the wind up. But Ish just stood there until the thug's fist smashed into his jaw and threw him back onto the cobblestones.

"Skirt sniffing Skov-lover. Does she make you beg? Fetch? Well, now play dead." He spat onto the cobblestone next to Ish's ear. "Waste of time". He circled his finger in the air and the four other Lampblacks began to walk away. I didn't really notice a sixth man join him, dressed more like a sailor in his oilskin jacket. He frowned in confusion, looking between Ish lying on the street and me with my knife in hand. Then he trotted after his companions.

I stared down at Ish. He gave a bloody grin and spat out a tooth. Then I noticed his left arm still held up in a closed fist.

Steini's hold-fire signal.

I didn't understand.