by Anna Eluvae
Dravus was about to duck down an alleyway when he saw a glint of light coming from the man's hand. He paused for a fraction of a moment before realizing that it was a glass dagger reflecting sunlight. The hooded man with a potbelly was now clear for what she was; not just a disguise Nemm was wearing, but one that he'd been meant to recognize. It wasn't quite the same as the one she'd been wearing before, but the shape of it was similar. Dravus gave her a brief nod before moving into the alleyway. If she'd been following him since Hartwain's, she would have questions. He hoped that she would accept the answers.
"Is Hartwain dead?" asked Nemm. The left side of her face was red and swollen, enough that her eye was nearly shut. She spared nothing for pleasantries.
"She's no longer an illustrati," said Dravus.
"Close enough then," Nemm replied. "I don't think anyone else was following you; I had to make sure though. Our enemy has rained down a flurry of blows. Hartwain wasn't the only one."
"You survived the fall," said Dravus.
"Yes," said Nemm. "The sooner I can find Wenaru, the better. There's too much blood pooling in my boots." She paused. "I have some ideas on where we might find our companions. Come on, let's go."
"They won't go to Hartwain's?" asked Dravus.
"They would have arrived before us," said Nemm. "I knew you would go there, but didn't think you'd be stupid enough to go inside. There could have been someone dangerous inside."
Dravus could have explained things. He could have relayed the conversation he'd had with Faye, which would have meant explaining that she'd come to his room when they were still in Meriwall. He might have tried to talk with Nemm about the structures of power that underpinned the world. There was something in her eyes that stopped him. She was angry and injured, ready to kill whoever stepped in her path. Dravus held his tongue; there would be time later. He might even be able to sway Nemm, if not Lexari. That would remove the need to fight and kill.
"I was lucky," said Dravus. "Come on, let's go find the others."
* * *
Author's Note: As of 8/2/15 this mirror should be caught up with what's on my website. Sorry for the delay.
Chapter 16
Nemm fell.
Glass twirled in the air around her, spreading as it fell with her. It seemed to move backwards, because it was falling more slowly than she was. The moment stretched out in front of her, a half second where she was surrounded by her domain and empty air. Death lay below her, coming more quickly with the tightly spaced beats of her heart. She shattered her armor, fracturing it along intuitive lines. The pieces broke off and tumbled away from her, dozens of pounds of glass that had formed a protective shell around her cracking like an egg.
She could aim to hit the street headfirst. If she closed her eyes she wouldn't be able to see the inevitability of the crash. She would crack her skull or snap her neck, possibly both, but either way it would be a swift and merciful death. It would be possible to die, quickly and simply, instead of the experience of pain and the fight that would surely come after it. The thought passed through her mind quickly, just long enough for three floors of the Ministry of Legends to pass her by. She would remember it later, with a small amount of suppressed longing.
Nemm had learned the art of falling at a small temple in Luchistan, in the far east. It had been early in her career aboard the Zenith, before Wenaru had saved Lexari's life and come aboard, but after the Peddler's War. Their tour of the far east was more to offer a cleansing of the palate than anything else. Nemm had gone to the temple alone, in part because she and Lexari had gotten in a fight that both would afterward pretend hadn't happened. Nemm had thought that the Luchistani monks would have something clever and wise for her, which was always how it had gone in the stories, but instead their style of martial arts was almost entirely concerned with how to take an impact against the ground.
It was nearly worthless for an illustrati. Fights were about which domain you had and how much power you could bring to bear with it. Heavy armor was the norm, as were long weapons with a fair amount of reach. There were a number of domains that allowed for an attempt as suffocation through various means as well, which meant distance was preferred. The only domains that favored grappling were the bodily domains, more to find or create a gap in the armor than anything else. Even then, being able to properly take a fall didn't matter to someone like Nemm. She was simply too durable for a throw to do any damage. She had sparred with the monks all the same, learning as much of their techniques as a week would allow, but that was more for the sake of being able to tell the story later. The monks focused on rolling, turning the moment of impact into sideways movement, but this only worked if the fall had an angle to it. It wasn't until her final day at the temple that a wizened old man gave her careful instructions on how to survive a straight drop. She'd thought it useless but learned it anyway; it probably saved her life.
Nemm spread herself out, with her forearms in front of her and her feet angled downward. The idea was to take the hit from the ground in as many places as possible, so that no one location would be taking the brunt of the impact. All this was accomplished in the last half of the fall, but had been planned from the moment that Lexari had made his own graceful exit from the Ministry of Legends. At the last moment, Nemm turned her head to the side, then slammed into the ground.
She came to with a throbbing headache, not too many seconds after she'd made impact. There was a moment of disorientation and pain, until the pain had sharpened into something visceral, leaving the sense of confusion behind. Nemm got to her feet with an involuntary groan. She had gotten lucky; despite the pain and blood streaming from her, nothing seemed to be broken. Her hearing was less than it had been at the start of the day, thanks to the grenade and a number of pistol shots, but it was clear that the people around her were screaming; pieces of glass as sharp as razors were raining from the sky.
Nemm reached down to pick up a piece of glass with shaking fingers. She began to form it into a dagger with a familiar manipulation of her domain; she would remake her armor as she went. When she told this story later, her landing would be flawless, with one leg splayed out to the side and her hand just barely touching the pavement of the street. In the story she would catch her glass daggers from the air as they fell.
Nemm looked around briefly, trying to see the best direction to run in. She winced when she saw a man clutching a bleeding woman. Nemm had been thoughtful in shattering her armor; she had made the pieces sharp. Nemm had known there might be civilians below, but she'd done it anyway, the better to inflict casualties that would need to be dealt with. The stories she would tell of this moment would leave out the pain and suffering of those people who had only been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Nemm took off at a sprint, trying her best to ignore the pains in her body and the unease in her mind.
* * *
They made their way through the city, moving as quickly as they could while staying inconspicuous. It was a sunny day, not quite right for a hood, but Nemm's swollen red face would have drawn more stares than the unseasonable hood did. Dravus extended the shadows that her hood cast, further obscuring her face from view. This did little to hide her limp, or the hint of glass beneath her clothing. If they were stopped by any guards, Dravus was certain that she would kill them. Even with the beating she'd taken, she was too beautiful to pass as anything but an illustrati. She had not been built for subtlety.
"Where did you find your clothing?" asked Dravus.
"Not the time for idle conversation," said Nemm. She licked a small amount of blood from her lips.
"I was chased by the parapetti in Genthric quite a few times," said Dravus. "I learned the art of blending in. If you look around us, you'll see a fair number of people engaged in idle conversation. Even if you didn't, the guards will be less likely to try speaking with us if they thought they'd be interrupting." He kept his voice low enough for a relatively private conversation. The sounds of the city wou
ld drown them out.
"They wouldn't be so foolish as that," said Nemm.
"Yes they would," said Dravus. "They wouldn't even realize the impulse. At any rate, it's not as if speaking to me is going to make it more likely that we're found out."
Nemm glanced toward Dravus. "Parance and I have a long history," she replied. "There are difficulties in forging the sorts of relationships that will last a long stretch of absence, but I made a disproportionate number of them here. Part of that is owed to the Peddler's War, and the long stretch of time we spent in the Iron Kingdom. Once I'd killed my pursuers, I had options in front of me."
"You came to Hartwain's looking for me," said Dravus. He tried to keep his voice light. Anyone glancing at them might mark the hooded figure as odd, but Dravus's casual air would deflect attention.
"I came to Hartwain's because too many of the people I'd known had been attacked," said Nemm. "Today was the day they made their grand move. It's virtually certain they thought our presence necessitated it. If their trap had worked, they would have to explain to everyone why they'd killed us. If they hadn't sprung a trap, there was a risk we would uncover something. They used what element of surprise they had now, while they still could." Nemm pursed her lips from the shadows of the hood. "So to answer your question, I went to Merrith's house. She was an illustrati of gold; she was an hour dead when I got there, along with her husband and two of their servants."
"I'm sorry," said Dravus.
"I said it was a lasting relationship," said Nemm. "Not a lasting friendship."
They walked in silence for a few steps, with Nemm leading.
"Where are we going?" asked Dravus.
"Hopefully to the place that the Sunhawk will assume we'd meet," said Nemm. There was something cutting about the way she used his title. "We met during the Peddler's War, in a small courtyard just south of the Elnor. It's not a story that we've told anyone, so no one would think of it as a meeting place. Everywhere else is the home of an illustrati; if Hartwain and Merrith are any indication, the illustrati in this city aren't safe. Those that aren't being slaughtered are traitors or pawns." Her eyes rested on Dravus for a moment. "Hopefully Lexari thinks of the same place I do, or I don't know how we're going to find him."
"He'll be easy to notice," said Dravus. "A tall, bald man with dark skin would stick out even if Lexari weren't famous."
"Assuming they're both still alive, he'll send Wenaru," said Nemm. She swayed slightly as she stepped forward.
"Are you going to be okay?" asked Dravus.
"I told you," said Nemm. "There's blood pooling in my boots."
"It's going to look suspicious if I have to carry you," said Dravus. He tried to keep his voice light and cheery, with the same nonchalance she was showing him, but he didn't know what he would do without Nemm. In the short term, he would be lost and alone in a city that was actively hostile to him. In the long term, his career as an illustrati would be jeopardy. That was without considering the fact that she was a friend, of sorts. There was a small romantic attraction buried beneath the stories they'd been telling and the displays they'd been putting on for the public.
"I'll be fine," said Nemm. "Not feeling up for my side of a conversation, I'm afraid."
"That's okay," said Dravus. "I can do the talking."
* * *
Dravus stole for the first time when he was nine years old. His father had taken him to market, in part so there would be an extra set of hands to carry back the fruits they used for the specialty breads. Dravus had absentmindedly grabbed a plum while the adults were talking. This wasn't too uncommon in the bakery. His father had called them baker's treats, though the fruit given to Dravus and his siblings was often slightly spoiled. When Dravus realized that he shouldn't have taken the plum from the fruitmonger's stall, he quickly stuffed it into his pocket before anyone could notice, just in time for his father to look at him.
Dravus had thought his father had seen him steal the plum. The whole walk back, Dravus was waiting for the moment of rebuke. His father didn't have much of a temper, but the few times Dravus had seen it, it had left him shaken, even when it was directed at his brothers or sisters. The admonishment never came. When they were done unpacking the fruits, Dravus went to the room above the bakery that he shared with his brothers and cautiously took the plum from his pocket. He ate it quickly, while there was no one to catch him, devouring the sour, slightly unripe flesh of the plum as quickly as he could. When all that was left was the pit, Dravus opened the window and hurled it over the tiled roof of their next door neighbor. His hands were sticky with plum juice, so he wiped them on the side of his brother's bed, and with that, all signs of the crime had vanished.
After a day had passed, fear gave way to relief and happiness. He was given his baker's treats just like his brothers and sisters were. There was no lasting consequence from the theft. Not even the fruitmonger seemed to have noticed a single plum was missing. The next time Dravus went to the market with his father, they were given a warm greeting before the haggling over prices, with no one seeming to have noticed what Dravus had taken for himself. Dravus found himself volunteering for trips to the market often, primarily to think about the best way to steal another piece of fruit, or a confection from the candy stall.
He was caught for the first time when he was twelve years old. He had some small amount of free time in his day, between his duties at the bakery and the schooling that his mother provided. Mostly he was alone, or with his sister Anna, who followed him around like a shadow. Dravus hadn't found a tutor in the criminal arts, nor did he know where you might find someone like that, but he'd been inventing his own rules and methods. He'd stolen that first plum through distraction, so this became the pillar of his budding school of thought. He enjoyed spending time with his little sister, both because she worshiped him, and because she was useful at turning away the attention of a shopkeeper.
While Anna asked the confectioner about all sorts of inane questions about what sorts of ingredients were in his chocolates, Dravus picked up some of the small candies. He would pick up two of them at once, take a moment to look at them, then put one back while palming the other. It was something that he'd practiced at home, with small rocks, enough that he'd thought it was nearly seamless. After the candy was safely in his pocket, Dravus looked towards the confectioner, who was still wrapped up in speaking to Anna. Dravus helped his sister pay for a treat — another thing he thought would eliminate suspicion — then walked out of the store. He was grabbed by the shirt just as he stepped into the street.
The confectioner yelled at him, a storm of curse words that quickly left Anna crying. Dravus first tried to deny that he'd taken anything, but the confectioner reached into Dravus's pocket to pull out the stolen candy. People were watching them, but Dravus couldn't do anything; the man was twice his height, with a painfully firm grip.
"Third time this week!" yelled the candy maker. "Third time a child comes in to steal from me! Where are your parents that let you roam this city?"
"I'm an orphan," said Dravus, trying to think of a way out of this.
The confectioner gripped Dravus around the throat. "Liar," he said. "I can take you to the parapetti and have them sort you out or you can tell me where your father is."
Dravus relented and gave directions to the bakery where they made their home. He had thought that would be the end of it, that he would have some time to figure something out before his father was informed, but that was not to be. The confectioner closed up his shop, holding tight to Dravus the entire time. Dravus had been frog-marched down the streets and back home, where the confectioner had explained things to Dravus's father. A beating ensued, one that left Dravus sore for a week after. His father had roared about the respect of the community, the irresponsibility of bringing Anna into it, the reprehensibly immoral behavior, on and on until he'd finally worn himself out. The punishments had been piled high.
It wasn't the end of theft for Dravus, but it was the beginni
ng of the end of his relationship with his father.
* * *
They arrived at the courtyard with only a single close call. A small group of guards had gone marching past them in double time. One of the guards had turned to look at them, slowing slightly, but Dravus had pretended to laugh at a joke, which was enough for the guard to continue on with his group. It had put Dravus even more on edge than they'd been before; their survival hinged on small situations like that, not all of which he would be able to see coming. He wanted to turn his head to watch every person they passed, looking to see whether they were being followed, or whether someone was going to fetch the guard. That paranoia would only attract attention though, so Dravus kept himself engrossed in telling stories to Nemm. These were small things, anecdotes about his mother's love and his father's wrath, play-by-plays of the rooftop races, and stories of daring capers with his friends as they committed their minor crimes. Nemm kept her eyes moving, not seeming to listen to him, and Dravus tried not to feel slighted by that.
