A Discourse in Steel

  “Indoors?” the man asked, raising his manicured eyebrows.

  “An open area outside is what I meant,” Nix said. “Maybe some loud things and…I don’t know, spark shooters or something? You have something like that? Whatever it is needs to travel well. I’ll keep it here.” He indicated his satchel.

  “Hmm,” the man said, and circled his wagon while rubbing his chin and eyeing his wares. “Hmm. How much you spending?”

  Nix showed him two gold royals. “This do?”

  “Hmm. Hmmm.”

  Eventually the man provided Nix with several smoke balls, a few of the metal rods coated in a silver substance, and three tubes that the man called “boomsparks.” Nix put them in his satchel but in one of the side pockets, to prevent the magic key from trying to eat them.

  “A question, if I could,” he said.

  The man nodded for him to proceed.

  Nix peeled back his lips and pointed at his eyeteeth. “Filed teeth? And tattoos of magical creatures all up and down the arms? Do you know what those mean because—?”

  The man’s eyes showed their whites and he backed off a step.

  Nix held out his hands. “Wait, wait, I didn’t mean—”

  The man used a finger to draw some kind of protective sigil in the air, then waved Nix away. “You go! Go now! Now! Now!”

  The man’s outburst was attracting the attention of passersby, so Nix did not press. He turned and walked away, reminding himself once again that he had to figure out Gadd’s story one of these days. Assuming, of course, he had more than a day remaining to him.

  He headed back to the Tunnel. The guild would have eyes on it by then, and once he got back there’d be no leaving again without a tail. That suited him fine.

  Shoddy Way looked as it always did in late morning—a muddy ribbon filled with pedestrians making their way to and from the Low Bazaar, a handful of wagons and carts, a few too many wolf-eyed hangers-on, a few urchins, and a few beggars. Nix had no doubt some of them were guildsmen. He deliberately kept his eyes from the rooftops. They’d have a man or two up there.

  He felt eyes on him as he walked under the Tunnel’s sign, swinging in the breeze. The broken door was reattached, hanging askew in the jamb, but working. Gadd had done good work.

  A handful of patrons sat at the tables, nursing morning ales with day-old bread and cheese—the laborer’s breakfast. The interior smelled more of Gadd’s stew than it did of fire, but the blackened floor and the wall around the burned window announced the attempted arson well enough.

  The Tunnel was more tavern than brothel before evening, and Nix didn’t see Gadd or Tesha. The alekeep would be at the market, buying the day’s supplies. Probably was Tesha tending to Rose. Egil sat alone in a corner, all three eyes on the door, his hammers close to hand, a bowl of stew before him. Nix joined him.

  “How’d it go?” Egil asked.

  “Veraal’s in. He’ll be along with his men.”

  “A good man, Veraal.”

  “Aye,” Nix said. He patted his satchel. “I’ve got my miracles. I think we’re ready.”

  “Eyes on this place,” Egil said. “See them?”

  “I didn’t make ’em, but I felt them. They’re out there.”

  Egil said, “We’ll clear them before we head to the guildhouse.”

  “You talk to Mere? Get all the details she pulled out of that guild slubber’s head?”

  Egil tapped his bald head. “Got ’em. As good as a map.”

  “Good,” Nix said. He fiddled with his thumb ring before asking, “Sun’s up. This still seem like a good idea?”

  Egil regarded him across the table, his brow furrowed. “You see another option?”

  Nix didn’t look at him but offered Veraal’s advice. “We could leave. Take the girls. Head to New Dineen. Start over.”

  Egil scoffed, and that was about as Nix expected.

  “You know we’re going to have to leave a lot of bodies behind us, yeah?” Nix said. “Ideally not ours, but…is that going to leave a bad taste in your mouth? You’ve been rather priestly lately.”

  Egil sniffed and leaned back in his chair. A bit too casual, Nix thought.

  “Doesn’t bother me with these whoresons, Nix. They tried to burn our girls. That’s a question needs the right kind of answer. You don’t hurt ours. You don’t even try.”

  “Aye,” Nix said and nothing else.

  He knew that men who harmed women earned Egil’s rage like little else. Nix imagined that every time Egil saw a man hurting a woman he relived the loss of his wife and daughter. Over the years countless men had paid vicariously for the death of Hulda and Asa, and countless more would, but Egil would never forgive himself, and the actual wrongdoers would never pay. Blood could only expiate so much. Egil just had to bear it.

  Nix flashed on his friend walking the darkness of Blackalley, calling for his lost daughter and wife, the pain of self-blame in his voice. Nix pondered the pain Egil must live with; it made his chest feel tight. He looked away, cleared his throat.

  “I’m more worried about you, anyway,” Egil said, leaning forward, the chair protesting the shift of his weight. “Unless you got hard-edged while you were out this morning, leaving lots of dead men in your wake isn’t your way either.”

  “No,” Nix said, still fiddling with his ring. “But I’m with you on this. A torch job? Civilians and women? That ain’t the game. And it’s just bad form. I can put steel in slubbers who’d do that and not think twice. So fak them and their tattoos and their religion.”

  “As long as you’re firm of purpose,” Egil said, spooning some stew into his mouth.

  “The only people who get to tell me to be firm of purpose are lovely women with parted legs,” Nix said. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to go check on Rose.”

  “I’ll come,” Egil said.

  Upstairs many of the doors in the hallway were open, the workingwomen and -men inside preparing for the day’s work: splashing themselves with perfumed water, brushing hair, applying kohl. They traversed the hall and knocked on Rose’s door. Tesha opened it a sliver and peeked out, circles under her dark eyes, her hair still hanging loose and unbrushed. She saw it was them, ushered them in, and closed the door behind them.

  Rose was sitting up on the side of her bed, her face pale and pained, her breathing rapid. Merelda sat beside her, her tear-streaked face bunched up in concern. She looked very much a young girl.

  Nix and Egil asked Tesha a question with their eyes. She shook her head and shrugged. Nix frowned, approached the bed, and kneeled before Rose. He had the urge to take her hands in his but resisted.

  “Rose?” Nix said.

  She looked up at him sharply, as if she’d just noticed he was in the room. Her eyes swam in their sockets, the focus coming and going.

  “He’s in here,” Rose said, tapping herself roughly on the side of the head. “Croaking over and over again. I can’t get him out!”

  “Croaking?” Nix said.

  “Dying,” she said. “Dying, Nix. Going dusty.”

  He knew what the word meant, but the word choice struck him as out of place for Rose.

  Nix looked to Merelda. “Is there anything you can do?”

  She glared at him, her tone of voice betraying the tension she bore. “If there was, I would have already done it. Don’t you think I’d have already done it?”

  Her raised voice aggravated Rose, who winced and moaned.

  “Put a bridle on that doxy,” she muttered, then cradled her head in her hands and rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed. Mere rubbed her back, a helpless expression on her face.

  “Get him out, get out! It hurts, Mere! It hurts!”

  Nix stood and backed off, bumping into Egil. They stood in the center of the room, beside Tesha, the two of them useful for nothing but revenge.

  “It’s like I’m haunted,” Rose said, her voice muffled by her hands. “He’s a ghost, but I can’t get him out. I hear him, I feel him,
all the things he knew…”

  She shook her head and her body vibrated with sobs. Mere sobbed, too, hugged her sister.

  “Maybe Gadd could get drugs to soothe her when he comes back,” Tesha offered.

  As one, Nix, Egil, and Mere said, “No.”

  Tesha went wide-eyed at the vehemence of their reply. Egil explained.

  “Her brother used to keep her drugged. To keep her controlled. And then he…hurt her.”

  “Apologies,” Tesha said, and her expression hardened. “No drugs, then. And I hope that fakker’s dead.”

  “Worse,” Nix said, but explained no further. He signaled to Mere with his eyes that he wanted to speak with her off to the side. Reluctantly she left Rose on the bed and met with Nix near the door for a whispered conversation. Egil and Tesha joined them.

  “She seems worse,” Nix said.

  Mere nodded, her eyes too drained for more tears. Egil raised a hand to put on her shoulder, hesitated, then did it anyway. She leaned into him, lost and small against his massive frame.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Egil asked.

  Nix almost made the offer he’d been holding in his head, but it was so desperate that he hesitated and the moment passed.

  Mere shook her head. “She just has to rest. She has to clean it up herself, but she’s just not able to yet. If not…”

  She trailed off and Nix did not press. He could well imagine what came after the “if not.”

  Egil’s lost, helpless expression mirrored Nix’s thinking. There was no treasure to obtain, no information to extract from some slubber, no mystery to solve. They were useless. All they could do was give payback. That’d have to be enough.

  “Let us know if we can do anything,” Nix said. He cleared his throat. “Listen, we’re going to be gone tonight. Some men are coming, though, men we trust and—”

  Rose groaned, rolled into a ball on the bed.

  “Tesha told me everything,” Merelda said. She looked at Nix, at Egil. “And she told me why. But I want you to stay here. Don’t do it. I don’t want either of you to die. I lost my head in the cellar and…”

  Nix was shaking his head and about to speak, but Egil took Mere by the shoulders and gently turned her around to face him.

  “You have a gentle heart, Mere. Despite everything, you do. But listen to me. If we don’t go to them, they’ll come here for Rose and for us.” He held up a hand to cut off her reply. “They think she knows their business and it looks like she might. Every other thing she says she’s talking like a guildsman.”

  Mere shook her head. “But she can’t make sense of it all. It’s a jumble. She—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Egil said softly. “Not only does she know guild business, but now we left one of theirs dead and one…badly hurt.”

  Mere blanched at the memory of the guildsman in the cellar. Egil continued: “This is the only way, Mere, the only thing they’ll understand. And I, for one, have no intention of dying. Nix?”

  Nix sniffed. “I’m too pretty to die. Everybody knows that.”

  “You see?” Egil said. “We’ll do what needs done, come back, and we’ll all three see Rose through this.”

  “Four,” Tesha said. “All four of us.”

  “Four,” Egil corrected, nodding at Tesha. “Well enough?”

  Mere stared into his face and nodded slowly.

  He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. She colored.

  Nix cleared his throat, uncomfortable as always with genuine shows of emotion. “Well. Yes. Then. So. We’ll be downstairs waiting for Veraal and keeping an eye on things. Our part of this little excursion starts around two bells. We’ll be back in the morning, good as new. Well enough?”

  Mere and Tesha nodded.

  Nix asked Mere, “You told Egil everything you took out of the guildsman’s head about the layout of the guild house? Everything?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” Nix said. He stepped forward and gave her arm a squeeze. “That’s it, then.”

  Outside the room, Nix said, “You’re not helping by making cow-eyes at that girl.”

  Egil looked back at the door, his expression thoughtful. “As you said, she’s not a girl.”

  “She’s seen twenty-two winters, if that,” Nix said as they started walking the hall.

  Egil shrugged. “I embraced her, Nix, that’s all. I’m fond of her. I think.”

  As they descended the stairs, Nix brushed his fingers over Kiir’s. She looked lovely in her tight black dress and he refused to let himself think about her with any other man.

  “We’re both getting domesticated. This ain’t good. How fond?”

  Egil shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

  “You’re…hurting right now, Egil. Don’t try to stop it the wrong way. You’ll hurt her in the process.”

  Egil nodded, put a hand on Nix’s shoulder, and steered him to the bar. Gadd put tankards before them.

  “Tell me about your teeth and tattoos, Gadd,” Nix said.

  Gadd grinned at him, showing the filed eyeteeth. “Teeth, yes. Sharp. You want different drink?”

  Nix smiled back, but snatched Gadd’s wrist as he tried to turn away. Gadd’s eyes narrowed and his other hand twitched, as if he might strike Nix or draw a blade from somewhere.

  “You want to keep some secrets?” Nix said. “Fair enough. Egil and I, we’ve got some, too.”

  Egil snorted at that. Nix went on: “So you tell us if keeping your secrets ever puts this place or anyone in it at risk, yeah?”

  Gadd lost his smile and lost the vacant look in his eye. The man looked downright cunning as he held Nix’s gaze. “Clear.”

  “I’m good to my friends, Gadd. But I’m an unforgiving fakker to anyone faks me or mine. With me?”

  Gadd said nothing, merely stared.

  Nix let Gadd’s wrist go and the easterner went back to his tankards and plates and beer.

  “What was that?” Egil asked.

  “Just making a point with the man,” Nix said. “A Vathari merchant acted strange in the Bazaar when I described the teeth and tats. Seemed frightened.”

  “Gadd seems right to me. And makes the gods’ ale.”

  “Seems right to me, too. But right sometimes goes wrong. It needed said.”

  “Well enough.”

  They both swirled their drinks, but neither drank, which struck Nix as a terrible waste of Gadd’s ale. They waited and watched. Egil shook his dice, rolled them on the bar. Nix checked and rechecked his gear, the contents of his satchel, stocked with various items from Gadd’s cellar so he could feed the magic key. He gave one of the amethyst amulets he’d bought in the Bazaar to Egil.

  “It’ll protect you,” he explained to the priest.

  “From what?”

  “Venom, among other things,” he said, then started their routine. “It won’t fix your lack of charisma, alas.”

  Egil put the lanyard over his thick neck. “I’m wearing it only in hopes it protects me from annoying small men.”

  “Annoying?”

  “Also small.”

  “I’m small only when compared to a certain lumbering oaf whose company I endure only—only—in hopes that one day some small amount of my charm and wit might transfer to him, thereby rendering him only half a dolt.”

  “You neglect ‘annoying’?”

  Nix tilted his head. “Annoying I concede. And thanks. I needed that.”

  “Aye.”

  Over the course of the day Tesha moved the Tunnel’s workers out in pairs or threes, usually mingling with exiting patrons so as not to arouse suspicion. Veraal’s men started to come in around the fifth hour—all of them armed and armored, in at least leather jacks—and by the tenth hour, most of the Tunnel’s workers were gone and the only “patrons” were Veraal and his six men.

  “I got two more with crossbows right outside,” Veraal said, puffing on his pipe, his eyes hard in the nest of his wrinkles. He had a large sack that held two chain shirts a
nd a large bunch of smoke leaf. “Best I could do for mail on short notice. Lady’ll like the leaf, though.”

  Nix examined the used mail. His shirt looked too big and Egil’s too small, but they’d have to do. Nix gave both of them to Egil to carry in his pack. They’d put them on before entering the sewers. Nix introduced Veraal to Tesha, who thanked him for the leaf, and Gadd, who flashed his pointed teeth. Kiir and Lis had remained behind, too. Nix turned to Kiir.

  “You should go,” Nix said to her. “It might not be safe here.”

  Kiir smiled, her hair falling over her face. “I want to be here when you come back.”

  “As do I,” Lis said. She had her long dark hair pulled back in a horse’s tail.

  Nix was touched. Kiir leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Lis kissed Egil’s cheek. The priest put a hand on her hip and smiled at her, but Nix could see Egil’s mind was elsewhere.

  “Mere and Rose are upstairs, fifth room on the right,” Egil said to Veraal. “You’ll want to put a couple men on the door and one inside, in case Mere needs something.”

  “Of course,” Veraal said.

  Nix and Egil shook his hand.

  “You boys certain about this?” Veraal asked. “Real certain?”

  “Certain,” Egil said.

  Nix shrugged and smiled.

  “Good luck, then,” Veraal said.

  Egil snorted. “When have we ever had that?”

  —

  Nix and Egil exited the Tunnel, cold sober, a bit before Ool’s clock sounded the second hour past midnight. The last time they’d been on the streets at that hour they’d been hunting Blackalley. Now they’d be the hunted.

  As then, the streets were emptied but for the occasional drunk slouched in a doorway. The sound of laughter, conversation, and the clink of tankards sounded through the shutters of taverns they passed. They moved quickly in the direction of the Warrens, hunched in their cloaks, looking over their shoulders from time to time as if fearful of being followed.