by Alec Hutson
Five nights, and Ben hadn’t been back, even to just give them a few scraps? That wasn’t like him at all. He always took care of them.
“He’s gonna bring us something good soon,” Bethany said, and Bone nodded. “Maybe some meat.”
“Well, I don’t got any meat,” Nel said, ripping the bread she held into three good-sized chunks, “but I got bread. Who wants it?”
“Me!” Bethany and Bone cried at the same time, scurrying closer.
Nel laughed and threw them the bread, and they tore into it ravenously. The last and biggest piece she tossed to Samwin. He caught it, but instead of joining Bone and Bethany, he tucked the bread away, watching the other two with solemn eyes. Just like Ben used to do, Nel thought. They’re his responsibility now. If they wake up crying from hunger later, he’s got to have something to give them.
Nel swallowed back a tightness in her throat, wishing she had more to share.
Something shifted near where the alley emptied onto the Street of Silk, and they all turned toward the sound, the urchins tensing to flee. If it had come the other way, in the direction of the Warrens, Nel would have been more nervous; likely this was just some drunk stumbling out of one of the taverns. Nevertheless, Nel spared a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Cook was still in the kitchen.
“Who’s there?” she called out. “No more bread, if that’s what you’re after.”
A small shadow detached from the darkness and crept closer. Nel’s little knot of fear untangled when she realized from the size that it must be another child approaching. Though they could be dangerous as well – in the Warrens some children had turned feral, Ben had once told her, and were as vicious and cruel as the thieves that ran those streets. Ben wasn’t vicious or cruel, though. How could he join a gang?
“I don’t want any bread,” a boy said as he stepped into the light. To Nel’s surprise it was the same black-haired boy from this evening’s chalice game.
She held up her hand to keep the urchins from scattering. “It’s all right, I know him. He was in the Moon earlier.”
The boy shifted uncomfortably as they stared at him. His clothes were well made, she thought, but worn and frayed, and so small that in a few places the seams had started to come undone. Still, he wasn’t the sort she expected to see wandering the alleys of Lyr, especially this close to the Warrens.
“What’s your name?” Samwin said, apparently satisfied that this newcomer wasn’t a threat.
The boy cleared his throat, glancing at each of them in turn. “Vhelan. I was out on the street and heard you all here.”
Nel shook her head. “Stupid. Don’t you realize these alleys empty into the Warrens? We could be a gang just waiting to jump on the merchants that come slumming in the Silk.”
Vhelan’s calm eyes found hers. “You didn’t sound dangerous.”
Nel snorted. “Shows what you know. Plenty of smart bosses get kids to lure rich folk like you into the shadows so they can stab them and take their purses.”
The boy peered past them, to where darkness swallowed the other end of the alley. “The Warrens are down there? I’ve always wanted to see if the stories were true.”
“Every one of them is true, and worse besides,” Nel said, crossing her arms. “You’d have your throat slit before you could take ten steps. Kill you just for your teeth so they could make buttons out of them. Then they’d sell your body to the chop pot men, an iron bit for every arm and leg, and two for your head. Cheeks taste the best, that’s what I heard.”
Bone’s eyes had gone round as silver kellics, but Vhelan didn’t seem scared at all. “Truly, the cheeks? I didn’t know that.”
“What are you doing out here, anyway? With the chalice win your father had tonight I’d have thought you’d be off celebrating, eating pheasant and drinking firewine.”
“Tarris isn’t my father,” Vhelan said quickly, “just someone who took me in when my uncle died. And he is off celebrating, throwing coins around in the Toad. Come tomorrow we won’t have enough money to buy porridge, I’m sure. It’s happened before.”
That impressed Nel. “Truly? I never seen anyone win so much at chalice in one sitting. He’ll spend it all?”
“Down to every last bit,” Vhelan said, his mouth twisting. “And then he’ll have to borrow more money to buy into the next game. And if we don’t win enough that night, he’ll lose another finger. You notice he was missing three on his left hand?”
Nel thought back, and she remembered that the old gambler had kept one of his hands hidden under the table. She resolved to get a good look the next time he was in the Moon.
“You say you was just at the Laughing Toad?” Samwin asked.
Vhelan nodded. “For a little while. Tarris got angry at me for asking for a few coins to buy some of those honeyed locusts the ragman sells outside.”
“I know those!” Bone cried, clapping his hands together. “I’d give anything to try one. Must be what they eat every meal of the day up in the Bright.”
“You hear anything funny when you was out on the street?”
Vhelan cocked his head at Samwin’s question. “No. Just music from the taverns, maybe a few cats fighting.”
Bethany turned toward Samwin. “I bet the ghost only comes real late.”
“Ghost?” Nel interrupted, a little thrill going through her. She loved ghost stories.
Samwin frowned at Bethany, as if annoyed because she’d spilled some secret.
“Yeah,” the big boy said slowly. “Two nights ago, well past midnight I think, we was near the Toad looking to see if anything had been dropped.”
Or, Nel thought, looking to see if anyone was sleeping off their ale in the streets and had foolishly not spent all the coins in their pockets. Stealing from drunks was a dangerous but tempting pastime for the street urchins of the Silk.
“And then we heard it. You know that building that burned last month next to the Toad?”
Nel nodded. She remembered the fire bells clanging, everyone rushing out to throw buckets of water on the blaze. Merik had told her later that the whole district had nearly gone up.
“Well, we heard a ghost. Must’ve been one of the folks who got dead. Moaning and crying.”
“Did you go inside?” Nel asked, imagining a ravaged specter walking the charred halls. Maybe holding a baby or a cameo of their beloved, gobs of spectral fire dripping down from their still-burning hair. She shivered at the thought.
“Course not,” Samwin said. “And we haven’t been near the Toad since.”
“I would have gone inside,” Nel said confidently, throwing her head back a little. “I ain’t scared of ghosts.”
“Would you really?” Bethany whispered, gazing at Nel with newfound respect.
“Nah, she wouldn’t,” Samwin said. “Not if she’d heard what we did.”
“Would to! I’ll go right now!”
“I don’t want you to go,” Bone said, tears glimmering in his eyes. “Who’ll give us bread if the ghosts get you, Nel?”
“Ghosts can’t hurt you,” Nel told them, passing on some of Cook’s wisdom. “They just have a story to tell and want you to hear it.”
“Please don’t go, Nel,” Bone persisted. His cheeks were shining wetly now in the light spilling from the kitchen. “Promise me.”
Nel clasped her hands together, just like the bravos did when they vowed a vendetta or some other oath. She didn’t want to upset Bone. “I promise,” she said, and saw relief in the faces of the urchins.
Vhelan, however, looked interested. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when Cook’s shadow darkened the doorway.
“Little one, you’re letting all the warmth out. Come inside.”
Nel saw how the other children drew back from Cook, even though she’d told them many times he wasn’t scary at all. “All right,” she said to them, turning away. “I gotta help. Don’t go hunting any ghosts without me.”
The old gambler and his boy came again the next evenin
g. He won big for a second night, though without playing the poisoned chalice, and after scooping up his winnings he’d tossed Vhelan a silver kellic and told him to find supper somewhere – he was going back to the Laughing Toad and didn’t want him underfoot. Vhelan grimaced but said nothing. After he’d left, Nel had told Vhelan that he should keep the coin, and together they could scrounge for food in the Moon’s kitchen.
They dined on cold slices of an eel pie Cook had baked earlier, washing the deliciously creamy and marshy bites down with ale stolen from one of the barrels behind the bar. After swallowing her last mouthful of flaky crust Nel belched and settled herself against the wall in the little hiding spot they’d found under the storeroom stairs, lacing her hands contentedly across her full belly.
“Cook sure can cook,” she sighed, picking at something in her teeth. “Wonder if that’s why his mama named him Cook.”
Vhelan cocked an eyebrow at her, and Nel snorted. “Joking. I’m not simple – I know his name’s just a lucky coincidence.”
Then Vhelan did laugh, until his face turned red and he was lying on his side. When he finally stopped, he wiped his eyes dry and pulled forth a pouch.
“You play keepsies?” he asked, pouring out a handful of smooth round stones.
“I’m the best player you ever met,” Nel replied, scooping up one of the little rocks and studying it critically. “Though I never saw such a sorry bunch of stones. You got them all notched up like the chalice cards your friend uses?”
“Tarris isn’t my friend,” Vhelan said, his mirth vanishing. “And he doesn’t use marked cards.”
Nel flicked one of the stones experimentally, testing how it tumbled. “Then how come you’ve won big the last two nights? You telling me he’s just brilliant at chalice?”
“He’s not.”
“Then how come he wins?”
Vhelan licked his lips. “Because . . . because I help him.”
Nel didn’t let anything show in her face, but inside she smiled. She’d been right about that little tug she’s seen the boy give the old gambler, just before he’d started the big run that had ended in the scarred man’s emperor drinking from the chalice.
“Oh, so you’re good at the game?”
Vhelan glanced around nervously. “You can’t . . . you can’t tell anyone. Tarris said if the other players found out, they’d cut us up and throw us into the harbor for the wraithfins. I just know sometimes, all right? It’s a feeling, and if I follow it good things happen in the game. Usually.”
“Usually?”
“Sometimes the sense I’m talking about, it isn’t there. Those nights Tarris might lose a finger, if he’s borrowed money to buy into the game. I keep telling him he’s got to be careful, put some aside so he doesn’t have to go to the moneylenders, but he never listens.”
“And then it’s your fault when the game don’t go good?”
Vhelan looked away. “Yeah.”
From his face Nel could tell he was remembering something bad. So she punched him on the shoulder, hard.
“Ow!” Vhelan cried, his eyes widening in surprise and pain.
Ignoring him, Nel hopped to her feet. “I’m gonna go get my stones. Be back in a cat’s lick.”
“Maybe I’ll just leave,” Vhelan muttered sullenly, rubbing his arm.
“Don’t you dare,” Nel replied lightly. “I want to win that kellic off you.”
She dashed out from under the stairs, wended her way between the barrels of wine and ale that filled the storeroom, and burst into the tavern’s common room. It wasn’t empty, which was unusual: two swordsmen in orange-and-black livery were seated at one of the tables, intent on a game of tzalik. Not nightwatchmen, because the watch dressed in the blue and purple of the archon council. Must be guards for someone important visiting a girl. Behind the bar Merik frantically motioned for her to come over, but she pretended she hadn’t seen him, and instead bounded up the stairs to the second floor.
Nel slowed when she reached the room she shared with her mama; she should be awake, but her mama had been so sick lately that she’d been sleeping at odd hours, and spending most days in bed. Earlier today she’d looked better, though, and had even told Nel that she might come downstairs this evening.
The door was closed. Usually the doors of this hall were only shut when girls were entertaining, but surely her mama wasn’t well enough to be doing that. Nel nudged the door open a crack and peered inside.
Her mama sat on the edge of the bed they shared. She was wearing her favorite outfit, the one she sometimes sang in, a long red dress that left her shoulders bare and clung tight to the rest of her. Nel had noticed that a lot of people watched her closely when she wore that dress. Her delicate, pale face – so different from Nel’s, who everyone teased looked like a boy’s – was tilted upwards, and she stared with wide, admiring eyes at the man looming over her.
It was the young chalice player from the night before, the scarred man who had dragged Verise upstairs. His silken shirt was unbuttoned, revealing livid red marks criss-crossing his chest. This demonstrated that he was a real bravo, someone who had fought and survived many duels. He reached out and cupped her mama’s chin, his fingers digging into her cheeks.
Quietly she shut the door. Her mama had said to never come in if she was with a man, and it was one of the few rules that Nel had never broken in her life.
But there was something hard and sour inside her chest, pressing on her heart. This wasn’t right; her mama was sick. Two nights ago she’d been moaning in her sleep, her skin as cold and wet as if she’d been out in the winter fog. When she’d woken up she’d complained about being too hot and wanted to get out from under the blankets.
Nel squeezed her hands into fists, concentrating on her nails cutting into her palms. She didn’t want to think about her mama or the scarred man right now. She turned away from the door, keeping that fierce small pain centered in her thoughts as she made her way back to the stairs. When she reached the first step, she let her gaze wander around the common room, passing over the empty tables and couches, the two swordsmen playing tzalik, and Merik staring angrily up at her…
“Imp!” cried the barkeep, his face flushed. “You come down here right now!”
Nel felt that little seed of sourness in her chest open up, and inside she found there was anger, bright and hot. “No!” she yelled back, rushing down the stairs. “You leave me alone, you old goat!” She glimpsed shock in the barkeep’s face, then she turned away from him and ran for the storeroom. There was wetness on her face, and she rubbed frantically at her cheeks as she dashed around the ale barrels, quick as a darting mouse.
Vhelan’s eyes widened when she burst into their hiding spot, breathing hard. “Are you all right?” he asked, glancing behind her as if he expected to see the city watch hard on her heels.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you crying?”
Nel stuck her tongue out at him. “No. Don’t be stupid.”
“Well, did you get your keepsies stones?”
A crash shivered the air – the storeroom door being flung open. Merik didn’t beat her too often, but she thought he was angry enough that he probably would… if he could catch her.
“I don’t wanna play stones no more,” she said, pulling at Vhelan’s arm until he came to his feet. The heavy clomp of footsteps was getting louder.
Nel led Vhelan through the maze of sacks and crates and into the kitchens. Cook glanced up in surprise from his chopping, but Nel just waved back quickly at him, dragging Vhelan toward the back door.
“Little one! Where are you going?”
“Out!” she yelled over her shoulder, shoving the heavy door open. She wasn’t allowed to leave the inn after dark, usually, but she wasn’t about to stay inside with Merik looking to give her a good thrashing.
A moment later they were in the alley, laughing as they pushed through the gloom, the illuminated mouth of the alley swelling larger. Then they burst out onto the Street of Si
lk, startling a group of well-dressed older ladies, each of whom wore long iridescent feathers in their crested caps.
Nel paused and bowed deep. “My sincerest apologies, madams,” she said gravely, in a ridiculous attempt at a Bright Quarter accent. Then she whirled on her heels and ran giggling to catch up with Vhelan.
“Gutter rat,” she heard one of the ladies mutter behind her, but Nel didn’t care. She’d rather be a rat in a gutter than wear stupid feathers like an ugly old bird any day.
When they finally stopped, doubled over and panting, Nel looked behind them, but as she expected Merik had long since given up the chase. They’d run nearly the length of the street – while the Moon bordered on the Warrens to the east, the western end emptied into the Bright Quarter, where the rich lived. An archway separated the two districts, inscribed with twisting vines and flowers, and looming beyond this graceful ribbon of stone was a bristling forest of spires and crenellations.
The Laughing Toad, a rambling old building that dwarfed the other inns and taverns on the street, squatted beside the archway, every window of its three stories ablaze with light. Paper lanterns hung on silver wire from the red-tiled eaves, and a pair of verdigrised copper toads flanked the tavern’s entrance, grinning like drunken fools. The sound of revelry spilled into the street as a man emerged into the night. He paused to rub a toad’s tarnished head, laughter and the skirling notes of a keppa fading as the door swung shut behind him.
Nel almost suggested that they sneak inside and try to catch a glimpse of the musician, but then she saw Vhelan’s face. Tarris must be within, the silver coins Vhelan had helped him win and which should have gone toward warm beds and new clothes slipping through his fingers like water.
“Forget him,” she said, pulling on his sleeve as she turned away from the Toad. “He’s just a…”
The words vanished back down her throat as she suddenly realized that they stood in front of a listing husk of a building. The same building, in fact, that had burned a month ago, and where her strays had said they’d heard a ghost.
