by Lucas Thorn
It’d been a long night.
She edged up to the bar. Tapped it with her fingernail.
“Oh, fuck,” the bartender groaned. “It’s you again.”
“Didn’t get your name last time, feller.”
“Why you wanna know?”
“Just being polite is all.”
“It’s Vider, if you really gotta have it.” Still suspicious. “Prefer you’d forget it, though.”
“Like I said. Just being polite.” Lay a coin down. Said; “Got anything dark?”
“Shadowlake Pitch?”
She’d heard of the beer. Hadn’t tried it yet. Shrugged. “Sounds good.”
He scooped her coin and grabbed a mug. “Even if it ain’t, you paid already.”
“We all take risks.”
The beer was warmer than normal.
Thick and full. Sweet.
She sipped slowly, scanning the leftovers doing their best to keep the night going.
He paused, not really wanting to ask.
But asked anyway; “Anything else?”
Vider’s voice broke her study and she moved her head to fix him with a quiet stare. “Looking for someone.”
“I ain’t seen him.”
“You don’t know who I’m looking for, yet.”
“Sure. I still ain’t seen him.”
“Looking for someone-”
“You got big ears, long-ear,” he said. Spat on the ground beside his foot. “Anyone can see that. One on each side and sticking out like fucking swords or some shit. They look useful. Kind of. Shame you can’t use them.”
“I got big knives, feller. I use them just fine.”
His mouth twisted sourly, creasing every wrinkle on his leathery face. “Knew you were trouble. But I’m prepared this time. Ain’t taking none of your counting to five shit. No fucking way. Not again. This time, I’ll be counting. Counting the steps for you to walk out.”
As he opened his mouth to call the bouncer, Nysta set her mug down. Sucked air through teeth in a sharp hiss. “Now, that ain’t friendly,” she said. “You looking around like that. Like you think your chump at the door can do anything. Look at him, feller. He’s dead on his feet already. Couldn’t rile himself enough to spit half as hard as you just did. But me? Me, I’ve had a long day. You don’t want to hear about it. Let’s just say it’s been pissing me off. Leave it at that. Because if we don’t leave it at that, chances are I’ll get mad. Real mad. And when I get mad, I just start cutting. Pick my answers out of whatever’s left, if you get me?”
“I get you.” He held her gaze a moment longer than he needed to. Sighed. “Fuck this city. It’s just full of people like you. I tell you what you want to know, and someone’ll be round tomorrow giving me those same lines you just gave me about where to find your gang.”
“I ain’t with a gang.”
“Then you’ll be dead within the week.”
“Or someone else will be.”
“You’ll be dead within a week,” he said. More firmly. “So, you can kill me now or someone else can kill me later. Makes no difference at my age.”
“The Three-Point Gang,” she said. “Looking for someone who ran with them. Or knew them well.”
“Three-Point Gang?” He frowned. “What you want with them? They’re long gone. Red Claw ate up their place.”
“My business. I want to know someone who ran with them. Give me a name, and I walk out of here. Ain’t anyone gonna know I was here.”
“Three-Point Gang.” He said it aloud again, mostly in disbelief. “Well, I heard Zwack hung around down near the docks.”
“Not anymore.”
He caught her tone. “Zwacky’s dead?”
“Dead as can be with a knife in his throat.”
“Knife in his…” He took a shuffled step back. “Oh.”
“Give me a name.”
“He ran with a few others after the Red Claw moved in. Grim’s balls, I can’t even remember their names. They came in a couple of times, but it ain’t like they were friendly or nothing. And it was so fucking long ago.”
“Anyone who can point me in the right direction?”
“Right direction is the quickest fucking road out of the city.”
“That ain’t what I’m looking for.”
“Sure.” He spat again. “Trouble’s what you’re looking for.”
“A name.”
He shrugged. “Well, you could try talking to Old Man Fludd. He kind of knew everybody. All the old crews. If anyone’s gonna know anything, it’d be him.”
“Where’s he?”
“You head east from here. Cut through Golden Dagger turf. You know where Dogrest lane crosses King’s road? Some fellers call it the King’s Cross, but it’s mostly known for the Rofy Crof which sits on the corner.”
“The brothel?”
“That’s the one.” A wistful look shot through his old eyes. “Been a long time since I thought of that place. Long time. Ain’t ashamed to say I went there a lot when I was a lad. I weren’t a good-looking man even then. No one else would have me. Anyways. Opposite the old Rofy, there’s a little shack. Got a sign of a rose above the door. It’s a teahouse. Fludd don’t drink much else these days. Alchemist cut him off. He hangs out there with some of the other old timers. I’d drift in there myself, but I work most nights and a man’s gotta sleep. Even one with half a foot in the Shadowed Halls already…”
The elf finished her drink. “See? That weren’t so fucking hard now, was it?”
“You’re looking to get payback on them Three-Pointers? You ain’t gonna get far. I’m gonna guess it was you who killed Zwack, and with him gone that means they’re all dead and buried. All that’s left is their stupid sign on some walls which ain’t been scrubbed off yet.” Lifted his voice, which drew a few bleary gazes. “You’re wasting your time!”
“Ain’t about revenge,” she said. “Just trying a different angle is all.”
“But they’re dead. They’re all dead. Grim’s balls, why bother chasing ghosts? I don’t get it.” Then, remembering her threats; “Sorry. Your business, I guess. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“Don’t sweat it, feller,” she said. Turned and headed toward the door. Shrugging loose a few last aches from her shoulder. “I can accept when I’m being obtuse.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Rofy Crofs had a red magelights slung beside the door, bathing the street in scarlet. It was a tall building bearing many open balconies threaded with red and white magelights. Some flickered. Sign their enchantments were fading.
An ork leaned against the doorway, thick studded bracers on both arms. Boredom on his big face.
Red eyes studying the street with slow grace.
His stare slid over her once. Noticed the knives, but also noticed her angle would lead away from the building he stood guard over, so didn’t really care.
A half-dressed youth was bent over the rail, vomiting into the gutter.
His body arched as he expelled sour liquor remains from his stomach. Then rolled off the rail and slumped down the stairs.
The ork shook his head in disgust but made no move to help the young man.
Further along the porch, half-hidden by shadows, two women huddled together over a small vial. One took a quick slug before passing it over.
The other snatched with shaking hands and slurped the remains. Licked at the mouth of the vial before dropping it with a sigh.
Empty glass rolled across wood and bounced into the street.
The two women settled back on their shared bench. Stared upward.
Toward the moon and the pinpoints of stars clinging to the curtain of night.
An old man with wide-headed broom slowly worked the road, sweeping it clean. He never paused. Worked with mechanical efficiency and eyes half-closed. Wiry muscle corded across thin bones. Bulging nose casting shadows across both cheeks.
Eyes squinted. Almost shut tight. Mind drifting across the last few embers of fantasy. In
his mind, he worried at the choices he’d made and the choices he’d never get to make.
Blew his cheeks.
Snuffled a snort, and kept sweeping.
The elf passed without greeting. Stepped around the vomit and swiveled her gaze to search out the building Vider had said would be there. Saw it squeezed between two shops. One heavily shuttered. The other looking bereft of profit.
A dull glow inside seemed to promise a welcome, so she drifted toward the door. Nudged it open with a careful push of her elbow.
Pretty metallic tinkle let the teahouse know a potential customer had arrived.
Inside, it was dark. Light smudged against the walls by the low-burning candles. There were three customers at the tables. Featureless faces in fuzzy light cast by a few small lamps. Bodies warped by shadows.
All ignored her entrance.
A young woman came swooping from the back room, fussing at her clothes. In her twenties. Short. Wide nose flat at the base and fluttering grey eyes. Hair tied back, but stray strands dripped down her forehead.
She looked up only as she reached the counter. Blinked.
“Hello? Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
“Ain’t it a bit late in the night for philosophy?”
Reacting to the elf’s light tone, the young woman offered a slow smile. “I’m sorry to be rude. We don’t get many people coming in at this time.” She looked around at the quiet few sitting scattered through her shop. “Just the odd regular. Are you looking for breakfast? It’s a bit early, but I could maybe put something together for you. I can warm some bread if you like. My name’s Ana-Maria, by the way. My father owns this place. I just work the nights or he’d never get any sleep.”
“Any chance you call this place Sweetheart’s?”
“No. It’s called the Rose Teahouse. I don’t know any place called Sweetheart’s.” Frown. “Look. If you’re lost, I can maybe point the way and head out back again? Like I said, it’s too early for breakfast.”
“I ain’t lost, Ana-Maria. I’m looking for a feller who calls himself Fludd.”
“You mean Rojer? Oh. Well, he’s not here. Maybe you can come back later, Miss…?”
“Nysta. Just Nysta. And I don’t miss.” Sensing the young woman’s defensiveness toward the old man, she prowled toward the counter and leaned against it. Tried to force gentleness into her voice. “I ain’t looking to bring him trouble. Just want to talk to him is all.”
“He’s still not here. And I don’t know where he lives.”
“He come in for breakfast?”
Nervous. “Sometimes. I mean, I’m not his keeper. This is a teahouse. He eats here sometimes. Drinks here. Meets his friends. He’s a customer. Like everyone else in here. It’s not like we’re close or anything.”
The elf’s smile attempted humour, but the scar promised too much latent cruelty to do more than make the young woman even more nervous.
“Relax, lady,” she said. “Told you. I ain’t here to hurt anyone. Hard for you to believe. I get that. But I really am just wanting to talk. Mind if I take a seat? It’s been a long day. I can wait and see if he comes in.”
“I guess so.” Reluctant. She picked up a small sheet of paper. “Can you read?”
“Well enough.”
Passed the sheet over. “Here, then. You might like some tea. We have brews from all over the Fnordic Lands. Some from the Four Kingdoms, even. It’ll help you relax.”
The elf rolled an aching shoulder and moved toward a table out of the way. “Should try some yourself,” she said. “You look a bit stressed.”
“Can you blame me? Have you seen how you’re dressed?” Ana-Maria gnawed on her bottom lip. “I thought you were going to rob me. Or worse.”
A slight buzz of irritation tickled the edges of the familiar ice in her belly. “Told you. Just here to talk to Fludd is all. Just talk.”
“Sure.”
Nysta slumped in an uncomfortable chair and rested her arms across the table. Stifled a yawn as the teahouse’s atmosphere worked to relax her awareness. She could see why the three remaining customers preferred their privacy than spend it talking to each other.
One had his head on the table. Snoring softly. But the other two just eyed warm cups and seemed to be letting their minds wander aimless. They looked like they were trying to recover from a long night drinking.
She wondered how many had come from across the road.
Looking around, the elf’s eyes dragged awkwardly across a few paintings nailed to the walls. She wasn’t an expert, but they looked good. Their muted colours added to the dreamlike feeling which drifted through the teahouse like a fog.
The elf had to search her pockets for a coin to give Ana-Maria as the young woman poured a small cup of tea before setting the little pot down on the table.
“Doesn’t seem worth it,” the elf said.
“What? This is the best tea you’ll find in the whole of the Fnordic lands! And the freshest.”
“I meant being open this late.”
“Oh.” Ana-Maria put her hands on her hips and shrugged. “On that, I agree with you. We used to get a lot of students. They’d drink themselves stupid before wearing themselves out one of the girls across the street. Then come in here to sober up. That was a long time ago. Now, even the Rofy Crof ain’t as popular as it was.”
“Dragonclaw don’t strike me as a city which sleeps,” Nysta said.
“No. No it isn’t a place for peace, for sure. Which accounts for why business is bad lately. The Red Claw have taken over the street north of the Cross. And they’ve set up their own places. No teahouse, of course. They wanted us to move closer to their turf. But my father won’t move. We’ve been here three generations. We won’t be moving.” She set her teeth and looked grim. “Unless they torch the place.”
“That sound like something they’d do?”
Ana-Maria snorted. “When you walked in here, I honestly thought you were with them. Then I saw you weren’t wearing one of their stupid coats. But I still couldn’t be sure. I said I thought you were here to rob me.”
“Or worse.”
“Right. But really, I thought you were here to burn us out. We’ve had a few of their bullies come through and promise to do just that.”
“You ain’t got anyone to look out at the door?”
“A bouncer, you mean? From the Bodyguards? This is a teahouse. Not a tavern. We want our customers to feel at peace in here. A big oaf looming over everyone would make them feel the opposite. No, my father won’t approve. Noster knows that. Which is why he only sends his boys here one at a time. He only needs one. Any more is a waste of time. My father’s old. Too old to fight like he’d want to. And me?” She looked down at her thin arms. “What can I do?”
“Obliged for the tea,” the elf said, suddenly uncomfortable. Her stomach churned acidic. Not quite like she was hungry. More like she was tired and enduring the effects of too much beer.
She wanted fresh air.
Clean, crisp air.
Something moved under the skin of her ribs, winding between bones. Dark worms in a slow flood. Making her feel dizzy. Reminding her of the dizziness she’d felt when the darkness was new to her body.
She blinked.
“Are you okay?” Concerned, Ana-Marie leaned forward and reached to touch the elf’s forehead. “You feel warm.”
Flinching back, the elf shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“I can get an alchemist. I know a good one. She won’t mind coming, even this late.”
“I’m fine.” Showed a rueful grin. “Could be I drank too much earlier.”
“Oh. In that case, drink the tea. It has a touch of ginger in it, so it’ll help you feel better.”
The elf sipped, allowing the taste was instantly soothing despite the bite of ginger.
The worms slowed their movement through ribs and her stomach settled quickly. She rolled her shoulders.
Sat back.
Eyed the young woma
n carefully.
“You really should pay someone,” she said. “Sit them across the street if you don’t want them at the door. But pay them.”
“He won’t agree.”
“Then he’ll regret it,” she said. “That worse you talked about? Shit can always get worse than just burning the place down.”
“I know. But he’s stubborn as a mule.”
“Ain’t the only one by looks of it.”
“Maybe not.” Ana-Marie looked around. “But look at the kinds of people we deal with. You’ve got to be stubborn sometimes.”
“They don’t look too bad,” the elf said.
“Sure. And some have hearts of purest gold. But if you heard half the shit I had to put up with…”
“Just more reason to pay someone to sit out front.”
“Yeah.” Ran her hand through her hair. “Listen, do you want something to eat? I can get something from the kitchen. It’s late, but it’s not so bad.”
The elf hesitated. Wasn’t sure what she could afford. The copper and silver she’d taken from Hideg hadn’t seemed to last. There wasn’t much of it left and wasn’t sure when she’d next be able to get more. “I-”
“It’s okay. I don’t need you to pay. It ain’t often anyone takes an interest. And what we’ve got left out there ain’t worth paying much for anyway.”
“Grateful for the thought,” the elf said. “But I don’t like debts.”
“Then you’re one of a kind. Most everyone in this city owes somebody.”
The elf was spared further conversation by the door fluttering on its hinge and a big man with wide arms hunched his way inside. Rubbing at his broad face to force alertness into his expression.
He was old, but not old enough he couldn’t still maintain an aura of strength. An aura added to by the clink of metal as he walked. Each heavy steel sound formed by hammers and chisels which announced his trade and were tucked into a heavy leather belt around his waist.
As the door closed behind him, a gust of cool wind scooped the sour smell of old wine from his sweat and washed it into her nostrils.
Seeing Ana-Marie, he offered a tired smile before sparing a thin-eyed glance for the elf.
Noted the knives. Said; “Everything okay, Ana?”
“Sure, Jim. Why wouldn’t it be?”
