by Ruby Dixon
He grunts a response, and then I hear the jingle of his bracers as he puts them on again. Probably for the best.
I make my bath as quick as possible, scrubbing myself hard and giving my hair a quick rinse. I'm a little horrified at all the dirt rising in the water, but that can't be helped. At least it's now in the water and not on me. Once I'm done bathing, I step out of the tub and grab Aron's wet towel, noticing that he dressed while I bathed.
I dress, too, in my one change of clothing. It's an old gray tunic of Omos's that goes past my knees. I think it's meant to have trousers of some sort under it, but mine are dirty. I just wear it as a dress anyhow. It's not like it's sexy.
Of course, I don't think sexy matters to anyone in this land. They'd rape me if I was covered in dog poop, I think. I shudder at the thought and stuff my dirty clothes into my bag, and glance over at Aron. He's busy polishing his weapons and strapping them onto his forearms, as if we're going to be going somewhere in the next few hours. I guess being comfortable doesn't matter if you don't sleep, though. I examine my shoes. I have a pair of leather sandals that seem to be more straps than protection, and a pair of old boots that are a little too big but protect my feet. I'm wondering which ones I should wear tomorrow for more snooping around the city when there's a heavy thump at the wooden door to our room.
Aron and I both look at each other.
I slip my boots on, unlaced, and then get to my feet as someone jiggles the door. It has to be either a drunk or a person making a mistake. I open my mouth to call out only to find a hand over my lips. Aron.
“Quiet,” he murmurs into my ear. “That’s not the innkeeper.”
His hand slides away from my mouth and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he knows, when someone screams below. Not a small scream, a long, brutal scream—that cuts off abruptly in midstream.
Oh fuck.
More screaming starts, and the door to the room thumps again, the handle jiggling as if someone’s desperate to get inside. “He’s in there,” shouts a voice. “Burn the place down if you have to, but get him!”
Aron and I exchange a look.
Immediately we separate and grab our things. The screaming downstairs gets louder, except it’s not just one voice, it’s a dozen of them. The door’s not shaking anymore, but when I look over, I see a wisp of black smoke.
Aron grabs my arm, hauling me against him. “Time to go.”
Even as he touches me, I can feel the weapons covering his arms and his belt practically clanks from the knives hidden there. “Should we stay and fight? I mean, you are a god of battle.”
“And I know when a war cannot be won.” He glances around the room, his gaze lighting on the enormous window shutters. “We both know it’s not me that’s in danger.”
Oh fuck, that’s right. Another scream pierces through the night and I feel sick. “What do we do?”
Aron points at the window. “Out to the roof.”
I get a flashback of when we fell from the Citadel and groan. Is that what this is going to involve? Falling out of building after building while people try to murder us? This place sucks.
30
The door shakes again, and I race for the window, because I like living. We fling open the shutters once more and look out on the roof. It’s piecey and falling apart, with unsafe-looking patches, but it’s also really close to the next roof. In the distance, I can see a cluster of torches and hear the shouts of angry voices.
How did they know it was us? We were so careful. Part of me hopes they’re just thugs trying to rob an easy mark, but I know in my gut it’s more than that. Whatever’s going on in this world, these people are scared and trying to do something about it.
If that means running Aron out of town—or worse—they’ll do it.
“Come on,” Aron says, and grabs my arm. Before I can hesitate, he’s moving out onto the steep roof. I have no choice but to follow.
“My boots aren’t done up,” I protest as we move forward.
“You can do them up later, or take them off, but we’re leaving now.” He releases my hand, hops the two-foot gap to the next roof, and a few tiles slide as he lands with a heavy thump. He turns and extends his hand to me, impatiently flicking his wrist and indicating I need to follow.
I hesitate, then kick off my flopping boots. When I jump, I wince, expecting my feet to hurt—but he catches me mid-air and gently lowers me to the roof. Oh.
“Next roof,” he murmurs, pointing at the nearest building a short distance away.
“Where are we going?” I whisper, sliding my hand into his instinctively.
“Away from here. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Seven roofs later, and we’re almost down the street. We jump down to a lower building and then Aron jumps down again, landing on a stack of moldy, filthy hay that hasn’t been yellow in years. He hops back up to his feet again and then gestures that I should follow. Biting back the cuss words rising in my throat, I jump down onto the hay, too.
It feels like landing on scratchy concrete. I huff, choking on the air that whooshes out of my lungs, and get to my feet. Aron snags my bag from the pile next to me and then half-drags me forward. “Keep moving, Faith.”
“Need…time…” I wheeze.
“You don’t have time,” he warns, glancing down the street.
“Don’t…be…dick…”
“Hey! Hey you!” someone shouts. “There they are!”
With a growl, Aron hauls me to my feet, and I find I can run a little after all. We go down a narrow, filthy alley, my toes squelching in mud—at least I hope it’s mud. At the end of the alley, we turn and go down a side street that leads to another side street…only to run into two men with torches waiting for us. Their eyes widen in surprise to see us race right for them, and one opens his mouth to call to his friends.
Aron grabs him by the throat, quick as a whip, and slams him into the wall. There’s a horrible, wet crack, and the torch drops to the ground, sputtering out in a puddle. A second later, Aron tosses him aside and slams his fist into the other man’s face, and he collapses to the ground.
It all took less than a breath.
Aron turns back to me, not even breathing hard. “Come on. It’s clear we’re not safe in the main part of the city. Let’s head toward the river.”
When he puts his hand out, I take it. I’m still shocked by the quick, effortless violence of his actions, but I have to remind myself that those men want to kill us. I pull my cloak over my face and Aron does the same, and we hide in the shadows, moving from alley to street and watching out for others. There are people everywhere in the streets tonight—not just men but women and children, fear and anger on their faces.
You’d think Aron was the boogeyman instead of a god. But maybe because he’s a god of battle, people are afraid. I think of the two men he brutally attacked and can’t blame them for being afraid.
We get to the river’s edge and go down the creaky wooden stairs towards the docks. At the docks, though, there are just as many people as there were out in the streets. These are almost all exclusively men and I feel even more unsafe here. Despite our hoods, they eye us with way too much interest, and they seem to be more focused on me than on Aron.
I trot a little closer to my companion as he pushes his way through the waterfront docks. “I don’t want to be here, Aron. This is worse.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I don’t know! Something! Anything! Someplace we can hide and sneak our way out of the city.”
He thinks for a moment and then steers me down the docks, past crates and shanty buildings and along the edges of the cliffs. I look up at the stairs that lead back to the city, but it doesn’t look like we’re heading in that direction. I can’t figure out where we’re going until he pulls me next to a huge, smelly sewer grate and then looks around furtively. There are a few people watching us on the docks, but it’s more of an idle curiosity than anything else. The mob clearly hasn�
��t come this far yet. Aron drags me behind a few crates and then we crouch low in the shadows.
“When they stop looking in our direction,” he murmurs, “I’ll pull the grate up and you get inside.”
What? “Oh no, no,” I protest, but he puts a hand over my mouth and shakes his head, indicating silence. As I watch, a sailor comes up to the grate, pulls out his dick, and pees a hot, heavy stream into the sewer itself.
Oh, god. This is nasty. I don’t even have shoes. My stomach clenches as the man shakes off his member and then wanders away. I glare at Aron as if to say really and he only nods, his gaze on the others down near a small boat.
I eye the sewers with trepidation. The grate itself must be about twelve feet high and just as wide, which makes me wonder just how much poop is coming through this city. The sewer itself looks to be made of stone bricks or mortar, and the walls are scummy with sludge. There’s an iron grate over the front to keep people from wandering in, and I’m pretty sure I hear rats. I shudder even as Aron gets to his feet and grabs one side of the grate, pulling it away from its moorings so I can slip through.
Distantly, I can hear the men on the docks laughing as someone speaks in a language I don’t know. They sound distracted, which is good. Hopefully they’ve forgotten we’re here.
Aron manages to create a wedge large enough for me to slip inside, and nods at it, indicating I should go through.
I hesitate. I really, really don’t want to be girly and prudish while our lives are at stake but…barefoot and sewage and rats…? Can’t there be another way? Something that won’t involve a raging case of conjunctivitis?
As I hesitate, there’s a low shout at the other end of the docks. That spurs me into action. With an irritated curse, I push forward, squeezing into the sewer. As I do, cold mud—please let it be mud—squelches between my toes and I slip, nearly losing my balance. Choking on the stink, I put a hand on the curved wall to steady myself and it’s equally slimy.
“Pick up your cloak,” Aron says, already at my side. I barely have time to haul it up against my side before he grabs my hand and hauls me forward. I half skid, half run after him. His footing is far surer than mine, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that we’re splashing through the sludge as we head into the darkness.
“Where are we going?” I hiss at him, a little terrified as the scarce light from dockside torches recedes and we plunge into darkness.
“Away from our pursuers. That’s all that matters.”
“Do you know where this heads?” I ask, skidding along a little and clutching at his arm.
“These are a remnant from the ruins of Old Suuol. They network all along underneath Katharn.”
“These tunnels are huge,” I admit, and see a circular patch of light up ahead. I look up, and as I do, more water splashes down, narrowly missing me. I bite back a squeal of disgust as I realize it’s coming from the street above. These tunnels are pure worked stone, and I’m shocked to think that people are walking right above us. Those filthy streets above? That means all that filth came after the fact. That under a foot of land-hippo poop and people sludge and dirt there’s a paved street.
God, Katharn is so damn gross. I am ready to leave this city as of yesterday.
Aron squeezes my hand. “Silent, if you can,” he murmurs. “We don’t know how much sound will carry down here.”
He’s right, but I can probably guess. Even those quiet words ring with a hollowness, echoing in the oversized tunnel. There are more distant rings of light up ahead, and I don’t know if I’m glad to see them or frustrated. Glad because there’s at least some light in this awful darkness, and frustrated because it means we’re so close to the street above that it feels like we could be caught at any moment. All they have to do is look down.
I cling to Aron’s hand as we walk. Eventually, the sewage gets deeper and we’re no longer splashing through the muck but wading in knee-deep water. The stone under my feet is cold, the water too, and before long, I’m shivering and my toes feel like ice. The noise from the streets above grows quieter, and we’re either moving away from the busiest parts of the city or it’s getting late and they’re heading off to bed. My teeth start to chatter and I bite down on the edge of my hood to quiet them, trying not to think about how much sewage I might be covered in. All the poop in the world doesn’t matter if my clacking teeth give us away. So I clamp down, keep quiet, and walk.
Aron doesn’t seem to get tired, so I try to do my best to keep up with him. When the tunnels fork, he picks path after path, as if he knows where he’s going. For the most part, the tunnels don’t seem to be a bad path to take, for all that they’re filled with sewage. It’s private, mostly level, and it seems to be going somewhere.
In a way, it’s also beautiful. Because as moonlight from the double moons pours in from the grates above, it illuminates just how precise and gorgeous the ancient stonework is. Every now and then I see something that looks like a sigil carved into the rock, and it makes me wonder about the civilization that vanished, leaving nothing but dirty, scrubby Katharn behind.
But damn, why did they need such a big freaking sewer system?
We walk until my feet start to slow, and Aron has to hook me by the elbow and pull me along beside him. I’m trying to keep up, but I’m not used to this sort of thing and my cloak and clothing are sodden with the wet sludge that seems to get higher with every step. Eventually, Aron pauses to let me catch my breath, his mouth a firm line of displeasure.
“I’m sorry,” I wheeze, adjusting the bag on my back that’s digging into my shoulders. “I’m trying.”
“I know. It isn’t enough, though.” He takes the pack from my shoulder and slings it over his. After another glance around, he points at a grate in the distance. “That looks like the last one for a bit. We’ll climb out there.”
“Is it safe?” I can’t help but ask.
“None of this is safe,” he tells me, voice cutting. “But we can’t stay here all night.”
“Why not? We’re already covered in poop.”
“Because this is a sewer and the water’s rising.” Aron looks at me like I’m stupid. “The tide’s coming in. Unless you want to drown in someone else’s shit, we have to get out of here.”
“It is?” I look down and sure enough, I guess the water (if you can call it that) is higher than it was before. I thought it was because the tunnel was just, getting deeper in this part, but it’s past my knees and soaking the hem of my tunic. “I didn’t realize.”
“How is it I’m the immortal and you’re the one that has no clue how a city works?”
I slap his arm, irritated. “Don’t you start that shit with me. You want to know how it works where I live? We go into a tiny little room, sit on a toilet, take a dump, and then jiggle a handle and the magic poo gods take it all away. Whoosh. That’s it. That’s the extent of my knowledge. Once a month I pay the water bill and that’s all I do. So if your stupid city doesn’t work the way my stupid city did, don’t blame me.”
I glare at him, waiting for his answer.
He just watches me. His mouth twitches, just a little. Finally, he says, slowly, “Magic poo gods?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re impossible and I hate you. If we’re leaving, let’s just go.”
“Should we say a prayer to the magic poo gods first?” When I shoot him the bird, he snorts with amusement. “Here I thought you didn’t believe in any gods.”
“There’s just one where I come from, and he doesn’t put up with any lesser god bullshit like this place, thank you.” I stomp ahead, splashing through the horrible, sludgy water so I can get away from my equally horrible companion.
Aron’s laughter rumbles through the sewer pipe, and I ignore him, pushing forward. I’m so tired and the night has been so long. To think I just took a bath and now I’m covered in crap and mud once more. It’s like this entire world is conspiring against me. Heck, maybe it is. Maybe I’ve been cursed since I stepped through that
portal. Given that I’m stuck with the infuriating Aron, I believe it. One minute I think he might be okay, and the next I want to choke him.
31
I finally get to the grate he pointed out and sure enough, it’s the last one for a while. The tunnels disappear into an alarming, deep darkness, and I’m glad we’re getting out here. It’s quiet up above, so if someone’s waiting for us, they’re being really stealthy about it. I don’t hear a mob, though, and that’s a good thing.
I don’t see a ladder, either. This worries me, especially when Aron pulls a rope out of his bag and makes a loop at the end of it.
“What’s that for?” I have to ask.
He looks at me with smug arrogance. “To get out, of course. Unless you have a better idea.”
“Ladder?”
“Did you find one?”
“Well, no—”
“Then we climb out.”
I stare at the rope as he manages to hook it on a decorative flourish on the edge of the grate and then wraps the rope around one big hand. “I’m not sure I can do that,” I tell him tiredly. I want to cry with how exhausted and dirty I am. We’re supposed to be resting in an inn right now, not running for our lives through a sewer. I just want a nap and another bath and maybe a day where someone’s not trying to kill me.
Aron puts a hand under my chin, tilting my head up until I look at him. “I won’t leave you behind, Faith.”
For some reason, that makes me feel better. I nod, trying to maintain a stiff upper lip, because I know that’s what he’d want. When he smiles at me, it’s stupid, but I almost feel like I won his approval.
Not that I want it, or need it.
But it’s nice to have it anyhow.
I remain standing in the middle of the sewer while Aron shimmies up the rope, all the way to the top of the grate. He hooks his hands into the metal of the grate itself, then presses his face against the bars. He spots something through them, because as I watch, he takes the length of rope and works it around something up top, his arms straining, and then when he’s done, he curls one hand around the rope again, drops a few inches and hangs by the strength of one arm as he uses the other to push the heavy metal grate to the side. Then, he climbs up.
