She thought for a moment and then smiled. “‘Cause they just can’t get enough of those grey eyes.”
I grunted as I stood.
“So how’s it going with the new house guests?” she asked as we slowly made our way back to the main building. “Reevie told me you’ve gotten in the habit of bringing home strays.”
I gave her a befuddled look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I think it’s great. No one’s ever been brave enough to do anything about them before.”
I colored at the compliment, but quickly regained my composure and filled her in on what Reevie and I had been up to.
We passed Reevie as he exited the dining hall and I tossed him my half-eaten piece of fruit. “Noph just arrived, and Spats is demanding to see me.” I gave him my most sarcastic smile.
Reevie threw his hands in the air, accidently launching my apple. “Oh, great! What’ve you gone and done this time? Cursed, Ayrion,” he hollered at me as I followed Sapphire up the steps. “You hear me? Cursed!”
There were four guards outside Spats’ door, two of ours and two from Sandstorm. The two from Sandstorm wore purple sashes around their waists—Sandstorm colors. I wished I had taken the time to stop by Reevie’s room and grab my black vest.
Forehead, one of Spats’s guards, best known for his ferocious head-butting technique, not to mention the large permanent knot that had grown there because of it, knocked on the door when he saw us coming. Spats’s high-pitched voice answered.
Forehead opened the door and I followed Sapphire inside. The door clicked shut behind us, but the guards, instead of joining us as they normally did, remained in the corridor. Spats was sitting in a large high-back chair off to the right, and Noph was reclining comfortably on the small sofa in front of him. The same two guards who had accompanied Noph during our meeting at the Guild Hall were standing like sentinels on either side of the sofa. They reminded me of the bronze statues I’d seen in the park at King’s Square—silent and unmoving.
“Ah, and there’s our little scrapper now,” Noph said as he leaned forward in his seat and placed his weight on his silver tipped cane. He wore another richly clad waistcoat. It was shorter than the one I had seen him in before, and even though the cut of this one was different, it still bore the same deep purple hue. His pants matched his coat in design and his hat curled slightly on the sides with a black leather band around the small top-bowl, complete with a purple plume. If the scholars were to ever be in need of a replacement for “fop,” I would have suggested Noph.
“You wished to see me?” I asked with a slight bow to Spats, a mere show of courtesy since Noph was present. Spats had dusted off his faded blue vest for the occasion. He did, however, forgo the silk cravat, which I thought was a wise choice. It made him look like a complete buffoon instead of merely the half-wit that he was.
“Yes,” Spats said. “We were just discussing your upcoming competition and the odds of your survival. I was telling our good friends over at Sandstorm that you stood an excellent chance.” Spats tried to maintain a straight face but his tone made it perfectly clear that he didn’t believe I would be leaving the Pit in one piece. More like in several chewed-on pieces.
Noph, on the other hand, remained silent as he seemed to be studying me. He might have dressed like a dandy, but I believed my earlier assessment of him was correct. He was smarter than he let on. He appeared to be one of the oldest of the chiefs, at least eighteen. His mind, however, worked as though he were much older. “Yes, there is quite the talk floating around about the upcoming event,” he said. “Not much in your favor, I’m afraid.”
I offered a polite smile.
“But the Pit is the least of our worries at the moment.” The Sandstorm chief lifted his black cane and let the silver butt hit the woven rug at his feet with a thud. “I’ve been watching you,” he said as he lifted his cane once more and let it drop. “I notice your lips hardly ever move, but your eyes . . . apart from being the most disturbing—and intriguing—I’ve ever seen, seem to say quite a bit. For instance, they tell me you have a keen perception of your surroundings.
“I watched as you entered the room. You took notice of who was here, where they were positioned, and what weapons they carried. You found the nearest exits, and right now you’re judging whether the hollow sound of my cane is being generated solely from the rug, or if there is something hidden inside.” Noph smiled dropped his cane again. “How am I doing?”
“Actually, I was determining which of your guards I would take down first in order to get to you.”
“Ayrion!” Spats hopped to his feet, looking mortified, but I could tell that my straightforwardness was exactly what Noph was looking for.
Noph leaned back and laughed. “Sit down, Spats, before you give yourself a palpitation.” Noph continued studying me. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was being weighed for a different purpose altogether. Noph was clearly a tactician. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t have something specific in mind. I bet he was a tough person to beat in a game of batmyth. “I’m here because we seem to have a common problem.” Noph adjusted the buttons on his waistcoat, then reclined and stretched his arm over the back of the sofa. “I wonder, Ayrion, if you could tell me what that problem would be?”
“Cutter.”
Noph smiled. “And that is why I requested you be here for this meeting. Please—” Noph gestured to a couple of chairs in front of the two of them. “—take a seat.”
I glanced at Spats so as not to make him feel like he’d lost authority in his own house. Spats nodded and I walked over and took one of the two empty chairs.
“You too, Miss Sapphire,” Noph said.
Spats nodded again and Sapphire took her seat next to mine.
“I wanted to start by saying I have no doubt that what you said during the Guild assembly was correct and that Cutter sent his thugs in to raid your warehouse specifically to draw you out. That is how he thinks. He craves power and isn’t afraid to take risks to get it. Like Hurricane, Sandstorm borders the Avalanche territories, and with each passing month, his tribe pushes further into our region. I believe he’s testing the waters, wanting to see how far he can go before we push back.
“Unfortunately for you, he anticipated your attack, or better yet, orchestrated it.”
“He just got lucky,” Spats said, refusing to admit his own incompetence. Noph didn’t argue. Everyone knew, including Spats, that it was his own fault. The fool had led his tribe into a battle with nothing more than the promise to “cut the enemy’s feet.” What did he think was going to happen?
“You’re not the only tribe that Cutter has been testing. Just last month, we caught a small party from Avalanche near our compound. We stopped them about three streets over. Their excuse was they’d gotten lost. But, with a little well-placed persuasion, they admitted they had been ordered to see how close they could get before being discovered. They proceeded to beg us not to send them back. They said Cutter had sent them out after deeming them no longer useful. The fresh stripes on their backs seemed to testify to the fact. But the last thing we had room for was Avalanche’s rejects.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, “if Cutter is such a tyrant, then why does his tribe continue to grow? I’d think his members would be leaving in mass.”
Noph tapped the end of his cane with a shiny black shoe. “Those that are already there are too afraid to leave, and those that continue to join do so because they are the type of people looking for power. And Cutter’s promise of making them all rich is a strong incentive for their decision to join Avalanche. You might be surprised how far a charismatic speech can go to sway desperate people. Anxious ears will generally hear only what they want. Doesn’t matter how ridiculous the lie, as long as it’s presented in such a way that it aligns with their desires, they’ll blindly follow it all the way to their own destruction.”
I liked the way this kid thought. If there was ever a
ny doubt before, it was gone now. Noph had a good head on his silk-covered shoulders.
“What I don’t want to see happen,” he said, “is Cutter using the Pit to bolster the image of his tribe by adding another victory under his belt—”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Spats interjected, “‘cause Ayrion’s going to win.” He shifted in his seat to look at me. “Isn’t that right?” he asked, not giving me a chance to answer. “He’s been training every day.”
“That’s good to hear,” Noph said. “You might be Upakan, but the Pit isn’t for the faint of heart, especially when facing something like Flesh Eater.”
I noticed he had said something and not someone. “What’s to stop Cutter from carrying out an attack at the Pit? If his lust for power is as strong as you say, then if I were him, what better opportunity to do so than when everyone is assembled in one place at the same time.”
“You make a good point,” Noph said, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s the reason all members are required to disarm before entering.”
“All but the chief’s immediate guard, of course,” Spats added.
“There is the occasional brawl that breaks out when one tribe’s champion beats another,” Sapphire said, “but without weapons, it doesn’t get far, and is usually snuffed out by the rest of the tribes. The last thing anyone wants is an open bloodbath.”
“Or maybe that’s exactly what Cutter wants,” I said.
“I don’t believe he would take it that far,” Noph said. “He’s a greedy son of a faerie, but he’s not stupid. If he were to incite something now, he’d only be ensuring a quick alliance between the other tribes. And Avalanche, although growing, is nowhere near large enough to withstand that.” Noph leaned back in his seat. “No, no, I don’t foresee anything quite so dramatic as an all-out attack. Cutter’s goal will be to win the Pit, and in doing so, he’ll not only wiggle out of any repercussion for his unlawful raid, but in turn, he’ll pass that punishment on to you and your tribe for your aggression against him, all while building his own reputation and the reputation of Avalanche as a tribe worth joining.”
“I see your point,” Spats said with a worried frown.
Noph leaned forward and offered me a sly grin. “My question is what did you do to Red to get her so riled up? I get the feeling it’s personal somehow.”
I didn’t have to look to know that Sapphire’s eyes were blazing. Any mention of me and Red in the same sentence tended to set her off. “I defended myself against her goons on my first day in Aramoor. They decided they wanted what was in my pack and I decided they couldn’t have it.”
Noph impatiently tapped his cane with his fingertips. “And . . .”
“And let’s just say she lost a large portion of her guard and a few of her beaters before they managed to get it from me.”
Noph leaned back in his seat. “Yep, that would do it.” He smiled. “Red doesn’t like to lose.”
“Neither does Cutter,” Spats mumbled from his seat.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. I only had one choice. I had to win the Pit.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Reevie rummaging around his collection of herbs and tonics at the far corner of our chambers under the granary.
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner,” I said, fighting back a deep yawn.
“Sorry.” Reevie cast a quick glance over his shoulder before shuffling through some more half-empty jars, “I was trying to keep the noise down. You need all the rest you can get what with your upcoming . . .” He didn’t finish. “Anyway, those rejects up there are having a hard go of it. Infection has set in. They should have been treated a week ago. With my supply of medicinal herbs running as low as it is, we might not be able to save them all. We used most of my stockpile on our own wounded. I’m going to need to get some more.”
“Where?”
“Master Fentin has a small reserve at his shop that I’ve squirreled away. Any chance you’d be going that way?”
“I can if you need them. I guess it won’t hurt for me to take one morning off from my training.” I crawled out of bed and stretched my arms as far as they would go, which triggered another extensive yawn. It did feel good getting a little extra sleep.
After a quick breakfast of bread, cheese, and some sliced fruit, which I washed down with some watered-down ale, I headed up to the main floor to see to our guests. They were all awake. Some were moving around, tending to the more injured while waiting on Reevie to make an appearance. Bull, the leader of the small group, who also happened to be the large blonde boy I had knocked unconscious during our battle with Avalanche, was busy moving from one cot to the next, making sure everyone was drinking enough water. He stopped as soon as we entered the room.
“Rat isn’t looking too good,” Bull said as he walked over to greet us. “Neither is Petal. She won’t drink anything. Says her tummy hurts.”
“I’ll take a look.” Reevie hefted his healer bag and made his way through the crude sleeping quarters, careful not to step on anyone as he crossed from one side of the room to the other. Most of the outcasts were still bedridden. Reevie had told them they were going to need plenty of rest if they wanted to get better. No one seemed to complain.
It had taken a while, but with Bull’s help, we had managed to round up enough mattresses from one of the abandoned inns across the street to give most everyone their own bed. Some of the smaller kids slept two and three to a mattress. As sick as they were, Reevie didn’t like the idea of his patients sleeping on damp floors.
“Why are you helping us?” Bull asked. He stood beside me in the doorway, watching Reevie work.
I thought it a silly question. “Because you needed it.”
I continued to watch the little healer move from one bed to the next. Every now and then, he’d grunt and open his satchel and pull out a small bottle of this or a pouch of that, applying the medication where it was needed. Beside me, Bull remained silent, but his silence was getting louder by the moment.
“But . . . we tried to hurt you,” he finally said.
“Then why did you agree to come here?”
Bull leaned against the edge of the door frame as he weighed my question. “Because . . .” He paused to think some more. “Because you offered.”
“But I hurt you. I injured your leg and left you unconscious.”
There was another extended moment of silence. “I guess, because I didn’t see we had any other choice,” he finally admitted.
I turned to look at him. “And neither did I. The way I see it, we have a duty to help those others less fortunate.”
Bull raised his brow and grunted. “Don’t know many of those.”
“Those?”
He smiled. “People less fortunate than us.”
I laughed. “You have a point there.” I turned my attention back to the injured. “This city would be a much better place if people spent their time helping each other instead of exploiting one another.”
Bull snorted. “That’s not going to happen.”
I smiled. “Maybe not, but can you imagine what we could accomplish if it were true?”
There was another long moment of silence. I figured he’d had enough philosophy for one day. Maybe he hoped if he didn’t answer, I’d shut up.
“If there were such a tribe,” Bull said finally, pushing a tuft of dirty blonde hair back from his eyes, “I’d be proud to join.”
I turned and looked at him, almost surprised by his words. If there were such a tribe, I’d be proud to join. His statement only confirmed everything I’d already been considering. My mind raced with possibilities, but I stamped them down. I couldn’t let myself get swept up in daydreams. There were more pressing things that needed my attention at the moment. “Yes,” I said, turning my attention back to the room of injured rejects, “if only there were such a tribe.”
Reevie finished with his initial walk-through. After spending the last week or so helping him with the Temple’s
wounded, I knew his typical routine by heart. He would assess the patient’s overall condition, determine the next step of treatment, and then work out how to make his dwindling resources most effective.
“I’m going to need you to get those extra supplies after all,” Reevie said, walking over to join us at the door. “Rat requires more goldenseal, Petal and Squeaks need cranberry leaf oil, and I’m nearly out of both.”
I nodded. “I’ll take Bull with me and introduce him to Master Fentin in case you ever need him to get something and I’m not around.”
Reevie pursed his lips and glanced at Bull. I could tell he wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of giving away his secret hiding spot, but we didn’t have much choice given the circumstances. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid like jump in front of a runaway carriage.”
“Stupid? Me?” I offered Reevie a wide grin.
He shuddered and then walked back to his patients.
I glanced at Bull. “Have you had any breakfast?”
“We had the rest of the porridge you gave us last night.”
I nodded. “Good. It’s quite the walk.”
We left the makeshift sleeping quarters and headed across the open floor of the granary. The sun was just beginning to peek between a pair of tall buildings in front of us as we stepped outside. The harbor bells tolled the hour. My stomach grumbled. It was clearly looking forward to the possibility of one of Miss Orilla’s sandwiches.
We made good time by avoiding the Maze. Instead, we headed west on Mora and then north along Bay Street. I took every chance I could to catch a glimpse of the bay. I never got tired of staring out at the blue horizon of seemingly endless water, something I never would have been able to imagine as a small boy living in an underground city.
Bull had difficulty keeping up thanks to his injured leg, but he never complained. I kept the pace slow, something I was used to doing while following Reevie around the city.
“What can you tell me about Flesh Eater?” I asked. I figured if there was anyone who would be able to give me a straight answer, it would be someone from Avalanche, someone who actually lived with this potentially cannibalistic warrior. I wondered if he was as bad as everyone said. I needed to find a weakness, something I could exploit.
Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2) Page 15
