Way of Shadows nat-1

by Brent Weeks

  “About the boy?” she asked.

  “I don’t think he has it in him.”

  When Azoth came around the corner, Rat was sitting on the back porch of the ruin the guild called home. Azoth’s heart seized at the sight of the ugly boy. Rat was alone, waiting for him. He was spinning a short sword on its point. Spots of rust interplayed with the winking of the waning moon on bright steel as it spun.

  In this unguarded moment, Rat’s face seemed as mutable as that spinning steel, one moment the monster Azoth had always known, the next moment an overgrown, scared child. Azoth shuffled forward, more confused and frightened by that glimpse of humanity than soothed. He’d seen too much.

  He came forward through the stench of the alley that the whole guild used as their toilet. He didn’t even care to watch where he put his feet. He was hollow.

  When he looked up, Roth was standing, that familiar cruel grin on his lips, the rusty sword pointing at Azoth’s throat.

  “That’s far enough,” Rat said.

  Azoth flinched. “Rat,” he said, and swallowed.

  “No closer,” Rat said. “You’ve got a shiv. Give it to me.”

  Azoth was on the verge of tears. He took the shiv from his belt and held it out, handle first. “Please,” he said. “I don’t want to die. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

  Rat took the shiv.

  “I’ll give him that he’s smart,” Durzo said. “But it takes more than intelligence. You’ve seen him here with all the other guild rats. Does he have that …?” He snapped his fingers, unable to find the word.

  “Most of them I only see in the winter. They sleep on the streets the rest of the year. I give them a roof, Durzo, not a home.”

  “But you’ve seen him.”

  “I’ve seen him.” She would never forget him.

  “Gwinvere, is he cunning?”

  Rat tucked the shiv in his belt and patted Azoth down. He found no other weapons. His fear dissolved and left only exultation. “Don’t hurt you?” he asked. He backhanded Azoth.

  It was almost ridiculous. Azoth practically flew from the force of the blow. He sprawled in the dirt and got up slowly, his hands and knees bleeding. He’s so small!

  How did I ever fear this? Azoth’s eyes bled fear. He was crying, making little whimpers in the darkness. Rat said, “I’m going to have to hurt you, Azoth. You’ve made me. I didn’t want it to be this way. I wanted you with me.”

  It was all too easy. Azoth had come back to the guild already destroyed. Rat didn’t like it. He wanted to do something to seal Azoth’s humiliation.

  He stepped forward and grabbed Azoth’s hair. He pulled him up to his knees, enjoying the little cries of pain the boy gave.

  He owed what would come next to Neph. Rat didn’t particularly like boys more than girls. He didn’t see much difference. But Rat never would have thought of this as a weapon if Neph hadn’t told him how much it broke a person’s spirit to be forced.

  It had become one of Rat’s favorites. Anyone could make a girl scared, but the boys in the guild feared him more than they had ever feared anyone. They looked at Bim or Weese or Pod or Jarl and they melted. And the more he had done it, the more it stirred him. Just looking at Azoth now, on his knees, eyes round with fear, made Rat’s loins stir. There was nothing like watching the fire of defiance roar high and then, quickly or over many nights, die, flare up again, and die forever.

  “A wetboy has to lose himself,” Durzo said. “No, abandon himself. To be a perfect killer, he has to wear the perfect skin for each kill. Gwinvere, you understand, don’t you?”

  She recrossed her long legs. “Understanding is what sets courtesans apart from whores. I get under the skin of every man to walk through my doors. If I know a man, I know how to please him. I know how to manipulate him so that he’ll try to buy my love and become competitive with the others trying to do the same thing, but not become jealous of them.”

  “A wetboy has to know his deaders like that,” Durzo said.

  “And you don’t think Azoth can do that?”

  “Oh no. I think he can,” Durzo said. “But after you know a man or a woman like that—after you wear their skin and walk a few miles in it, you can’t help but love them—”

  “But it’s not real love,” Gwinvere said quietly.

  “—and when you love them, that’s the moment a wetboy has to kill.”

  “And that’s what Azoth can’t do.”

  “He’s too soft.”

  “Even now, even after what happened to his little friend?”

  “Even now.”

  “You were right,” Azoth said through his tears. He looked up at Rat standing over him, moonlight throwing his shadow over Azoth. “I knew what you wanted, and I wanted it, too. I just …I just couldn’t. But I’m ready now.”

  Rat looked down at him, a faint light of suspicion blooming in his eyes.

  “I found a special place for us …” Azoth stopped. “But it doesn’t matter, we can do it here. We should do it here.” Rat’s eyes were hard, but unreadable. Azoth stood slowly, holding on to Rat’s hips. “Let’s just do it here. Let the whole guild hear us. Let everyone know.”

  His whole body was shaking and there was no way to hide it. Revulsion was arcing through him like lightning, but he kept his face hopeful, pretended his trembling was pure naive uncertainty. I can’t. I can’t. Let him kill me. Anything but … If he thought, if he considered anything for another second, he was lost.

  Azoth reached a trembling hand up to Rat’s cheek, and stood, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  “No,” Rat said, slapping him. “We do this my way.”

  “To ply this trade, a man has to value nothing, has to sacrifice …” Durzo trailed off.

  “Everything?” Gwinvere asked. “Like you’ve done so well? My sister might have words about that.”

  “Vonda’s dead because I didn’t,” Durzo said. He wouldn’t meet Gwinvere’s gaze. Out the window, night was just beginning to lose its hold on the city.

  Looking at Durzo there, his hard, pockmarked face glowing yellow sorrow in the lamplight, Gwinvere softened. “So you fell in love, Durzo. Not even wetboys are immune. Love is a madness.”

  “Love is failure. I lost everything because I failed.”

  “And what do you do if Azoth fails?” Gwinvere asked.

  “I let him die. Or I kill him.”

  “You need him,” she said gently. “You told me yourself that he’ll call a ka’kari to you.”

  Before Durzo could say anything, there was a knock at the door.

  “Come,” Momma K said.

  One of Gwinvere’s maids, obviously a former courtesan herself, now too old for the brothels, poked her head in the door. “There’s a boy to see you, milady. His name is Azoth.”

  “Show him in,” Gwinvere said.

  Durzo looked at her. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Gwinvere was amused. “I suppose that if he’s the kind of boy you can mold into a wetboy, he can’t be without certain resources.”

  “Damn, I left him not three hours ago,” Durzo said.

  “So?”

  “So I told him I’d kill him if I saw him without proof. You know I can’t make idle threats.” Durzo sighed. “You might have been right, but it’s out of my hands.”

  “He’s not here for you, Durzo. He’s here to see me. So why don’t you do your little shadow thing and disappear?”

  “My little shadow thing?”

  “Now, Durzo.”

  The door opened and a bleeding, wretched boy was shown in. But even beat up as he was, Gwinvere would have picked him out from a thousand guild rats. This guild rat had fire in his eyes. He stood straight even though his face was abraded, his mouth and nose dribbling blood. He looked at her unabashedly, but was either young enough or smart enough that he looked at her eyes rather than at her cleavage.

  “You see more than most, don’t you,” Momma
K said. It wasn’t a question.

  He didn’t even nod. He was too young to be mocking her tendency to state questions, so there was something else in that flat stare he was giving her.

  Of course. “And you’ve seen something terrible, haven’t you?”

  Azoth just looked at her with big eyes, trembling. He was a picture of the naked innocence that died every day in the Warrens. It stirred something in her that she’d thought long dead. Without so much as a word, she knew she could offer the boy a mother’s arms, a mother’s embrace, a safe place. She could give a refuge, even to this child of the Warrens, who’d probably never been held in his life. A soft look, a touch on his cheek, and a word, and he would collapse into her arms and cry.

  And what will Durzo do? Vonda had barely been dead three months. He’d lost more than lover when she’d died, and Gwinvere didn’t know if he’d ever recover. Will he understand that Azoth’s tears don’t make him weak?

  To be honest with herself, Gwinvere knew that holding Azoth wouldn’t be just for Azoth. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held someone who hadn’t paid for the privilege.

  And what will Durzo do if he sees real love now? Will it make him be human, or will he tell himself Azoth is too weak and kill him rather than admit that he needs him?

  It all took her just a second to read the boy and weigh her options. There was too much at stake. She couldn’t do it.

  “So, Azoth,” she asked, folding her arms under her breasts, “who’d you kill?”

  The blood drained from Azoth’s face. He blinked as fear suddenly cleared his eyes of the tears that were threatening.

  “First kill, too,” Momma K said. “Good.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Azoth said, too quickly.

  “I know what a killer looks like.” Her voice was sharp. “So who did you kill?”

  “I need to talk to Durzo Blint. Please. Where is he?”

  “Right here,” Blint said, behind Azoth. Azoth flinched. “And since you’ve found me,” Blint continued, “someone better be dead.”

  “He …” Azoth looked at Momma K, obviously wondering if he could speak in front of her. “He is.”

  “Where’s the body?” Blint demanded.

  “It’s, it’s in the river.”

  “So there’s no proof. How convenient.”

  “Here’s your proof,” Azoth shouted, suddenly furious. He threw what he was holding at Durzo. Durzo snatched it out of the air.

  “You call this proof?” Durzo asked. He opened his hand and Momma K saw he held a bloody ear. “I call it an ear. Ever known a man to die from losing an ear, Gwin?”

  Momma K said, “Don’t you put me in the middle of this, Durzo Blint.”

  “I can show you the body,” Azoth said.

  “You said it’s in the river.”

  “It is.”

  Durzo hesitated.

  “Damn you, Durzo. Go,” Momma K said. “You owe him that much.”

  The sun sat fully above the horizon when they arrived at the boat repair shop. Durzo went inside alone and came out ten minutes later, rolling down a wet sleeve. He didn’t look down at Azoth as he asked, “Son, he was naked. Did he …”

  “I got the noose around his foot before, before he could …I killed him before.” In cold and distant tones, Azoth told him everything. The night was fading like a bad dream, and what he remembered doing, he couldn’t believe he had done. It must have been someone else. As he told his story, Blint looked at him in a way no one ever had before. It might have been pity. Azoth didn’t know. He’d never seen pity before.

  “Did Doll Girl make it?” Azoth asked.

  Durzo put his hands on Azoth’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I don’t know. She looked bad. I got the best person I could find to try to save her. Kid,” Blint looked away, blinking. “I’m going to give you one more chance.”

  “Another test?” Azoth’s shoulders slumped. His voice was flat, deflated. He couldn’t even spare the energy for outrage. “You can’t. I did everything you said.”

  “No more tests. I’m giving you one more chance to reconsider. You’ve done everything I asked. But this isn’t the life you want. You want off the street? I’ll give you a bag of silver and apprentice you to a fletcher or an herbalist on the east side. But if you come with me, you trade everything for it. Once you do this work, you’ll never be the same. You will be alone. You will be different. Always.

  “And that’s not the worst of it. I’m not trying to scare you. Well, maybe I am. But I’m not exaggerating. I’m not lying to you. The worst of it, kid, is this: Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. If you come with me, you must forswear love. Do you know what that means?”

  Azoth shook his head.

  “It means you can bang as many women as you want, but you can never love one. I won’t allow you to ruin yourself over a girl,” Durzo’s voice filled with violence. His hands were claws on Azoth’s shoulders, his eyes predator’s eyes. “Do you understand?”

  “What about Doll Girl?” Azoth asked. He must have been tired. He knew mentioning her was a mistake before he finished the question.

  “You’re ten, eleven years old? You think you love her?”

  “No.” Too late.

  “I’ll let you know if she lives, but if you come with me, Azoth, you will never talk to her again. You understand? You apprentice to my fletcher or the herbalist, you can see her as much as you want. Please, kid. Take it. This might be your last chance for happiness.”

  Happiness? I just don’t want to be afraid anymore. Blint wasn’t afraid. People were afraid of him. They whispered his name in awe.

  “You follow me now,” Blint said, “and by the Night Angels, you belong to me. Once we start, you become a wetboy or you die. The Sa’kagé can’t afford to do it any other way. Or you stay, and I’ll find you in a few days and take you to your new master.”

  Blint stood and brushed his still-damp hands as if washing them of the matter. He turned abruptly and strode into the shadows of an alley.

  Stepping out from the niche he’d been standing in, Azoth looked down the street toward the guild home, a hundred paces away. Maybe he didn’t need to go with Blint now. He’d killed Rat. Maybe he could go back and everything would be all right.

  Go back to what? I’m still too little to be the guild head. Ja’laliel’s still dying. Jarl and Doll Girl were still both maimed. There would be no hero’s welcome for Azoth. Roth or some other big would take over the guild, and Azoth would be afraid again, as if nothing had ever happened.

  But he promised me an apprenticeship! Yes, he’d promised, but everyone knew you didn’t trust adults.

  Blint was still confusing. It didn’t sound right how he talked about Doll Girl, but just now Azoth had seen something in the wetboy. There was something in him that cared. There was something in the legendary killer that wanted the best for Azoth.

  Azoth didn’t believe that Doll Girl was worthless just because she wasn’t pretty anymore. He didn’t know if he could kill again. He didn’t know what Blint would do to him or why. But whatever that something was that he had seen in the wetboy, it was far more precious to Azoth than all his doubts.

  Down the street, Jarl stepped out of the guild home. He saw Azoth, and even from that distance, Azoth saw him smile, white teeth brilliant against his Ladeshian skin. From the blood on the back porch and Rat’s absence, they must have guessed that he was dead. Jarl waved and started hurrying toward Azoth in the dazzling sunlight.

  Azoth turned his back on his best friend and stepped into the shadows’ embrace.

  12

  Welcome home,” Master Blint’s voice was tinged with sarcasm, but Azoth didn’t hear it. The word home held magic. He’d never had a home.

  Durzo Blint’s house crouched deep in the Warrens underneath the ruins of an old temple. Azoth stared in open wonder. From the outside, it looked like there was nothing here, but Blint had several rooms—none of them small.r />
  “You’ll learn to fight here,” Blint said, locking, unlocking, and relocking each of three bolts on the door. The room was wide and deep, and crammed with equipment: various targets, pads filled with straw, and every kind of practice weapon, beams suspended above the ground, strange tripods with wood appendages, cables, ropes, hooks, and ladders.

  “And you’ll learn to use those.” Blint pointed to the weapons lining the walls, each neatly outlined in white paint. There were weapons of every size and shape from single-edged daggers to enormous cleavers. Blades straight or curving, one- or two-edged, one- or two-handed, with different colors and patterns of steel. Swords with hooks, notches, and barbs. Then there were maces, flails, axes, war hammers, clubs, staves, pole arms, sickles, spears, slings, darts, garrotes, short bows, longbows, crossbows.

  The next room was just as amazing. Disguises and equipment lined the walls, each painstakingly outlined. But here there were also tables covered with books and vials. The books bristled with bookmarks. The jars covered a huge table and were filled with seeds, flowers, leaves, mushrooms, liquids, and powders.

  “These are the base ingredients for most of the poisons in the world. As soon as Momma K teaches you how to read, you’ll read and memorize most of what’s in these books. The poisoner’s art is an art. You will master it.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In a couple of years, when your Talent quickens, I’ll teach you to use magic.”

  “Magic?” Azoth was feeling more exhausted by the second.

  “You think I accepted you because of your looks? Magic is essential to what we do. No Talent, no wetboy.”

  Azoth started to totter, but before he could collapse, Master Blint grabbed him by the back of his ragged tunic and guided him to the next room. There was only one pallet and Blint didn’t set him on it, but guided him instead to a spot by a small fireplace.

  “First kills are hard,” Blint said. He seemed to be speaking from far away. “Some time this week, you’ll probably cry. Do it when I’m gone.”

  “I won’t cry,” Azoth vowed.

  “Sure. Now sleep.”

  “Life is empty. When we take a life, we aren’t taking anything of value. Wetboys are killers. That’s all we do. That’s all we are. There are no poets in the bitter business,” Blint said.