“I know Pharaul can be fucked up, but what if Gray Watch is, too?” Indirk held the Writhewife by one sleeve, as though she could keep the woman pinned there on the little road between the tenements. “If Gray Watch was doing something so wrong, so evil, that you couldn’t stand it, what would you do? Would you break up with it?”
“Oh, Indirk Correlon, what questions you have.” The Writewife gently plucked Indirk’s hand from her sleeve and pushed it back toward her. “I would fix it. You would be surprised the things I can fix. My Gray love makes mistakes, but it can set itself right, with some help.”
“But what if it was worse than what it’s done before?”
“You’re talking about what you saw underground.” The Writhewife backed herself down the road, moving away from Indirk. “I would fix it, yes, even that. Even much worse than that, unto the very death of me, unto the burning of the sea. True and eternal am I to my Gray love, the vows of our marriage not idly made.”
“Then you have to help me. We’ll go to the commodore.” Indirk pursued. “We’ll do what we need to do.”
Slowing, and then stopping, the Writhewife stared, perplexed. “To what end?”
“I want to fix the city. Gray Watch. I want to fix what’s wrong with it. I want to save it without hurting it.”
A smile appeared on the Writhewife’s face. Yellow flashed in her eyes. “Indirk Correlon. You surprise me, over and over. You truly are of this place, as much as I am of the Writhe. I adore you. Yes, I’ll help.” She spun away. “Don’t fear the serpent. I’m watching over you. It will not best me.”
* * *
Indirk spent time standing in the road after the Writhewife left. She stared at the narrow sliver of sky that she could see between the tenements. She was thinking about how strange it was, feeling the novelty of sunlight and salty wind, because for days she’d felt like she might never be able to bring herself to go outside again but now – with the Writhe’s reassurance and the eyes of a Guardian Lion set upon her – even out in the open, Indirk actually didn’t feel any fear.
It surprised her how foreign and novel it was, to feel safe, very much as though she’d never felt it before.
“Indirk.”
She dropped her gaze and turned to see a figure in black leathers, an unruly tumble of short black hair. She said, “Hello, Amo.”
Frowning unhappily, Amo crossed their arms. In their eyes was a spark of some strong, fierce emotion. “The fuck is going on? You’ve been missing for days. We’ve all been worried to death.”
“Hm.” Indirk wavered in silence, waiting to feel something about that, perhaps guilt, sympathy, reassurance, something like that. But such a feeling never came. “Amo, there’s somewhere I need to go. Can you come with me?”
“Seriously?” Amo scoffed. “Where have you been?”
“Amo,” Indirk said her oldest friend’s name in a monotone way, unsure why she was even saying it. She checked her pockets, felt Avie shifting in one, felt the hard metal of her pistol in another. She glanced toward some shadows on the side of the road, where feline eyes shone, and said, “Stay here, Hado. I’ll be back soon,” as she started walking toward the sea.
Amo hadn’t noticed the cat before, and flinched at the sight of it. Then, sullenly, Amo followed after Indirk.
* * *
Near the sea, several of the Angolhill’s muddy roads converged with the paved roads of the Admiralty district and the quay at a plaza where tall, narrow gray stones had been positioned in a semi-circle facing the ocean. The place was overgrown with green grasses at the edges, moss climbing the sides of salt-crusted stone. As the ocean crashed and shifted below, children chased one another through the plaza, dodging around the tall stones and kicking through tufts of grass. Their game was simple, chasing one another this way and that.
A few calmer children were sitting against a larger stone at the center, plucking out blades of grass. The eldest of the group was teaching the others how to weave the grass in their fingers.
Indirk paused at the edge of the plaza and watched the children. She wasn’t used to being around kids. There had always been children around the orphanage that Amo lived at, and Indirk had used to spend a lot of time there. When she was a child herself, she’d played with Amo and some of the other kids. And for awhile, Indirk’s foster mother had been friends with the orphan matron, that strange woman named Sgathaich. But then Indirk had grown up, and all of that had stopped.
Coming up beside Indirk, Amo nudged her. “Still waiting. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Indirk said. “It’s just occurring to me that I’m probably too old to really have kids at this point.”
“No, you’re not.” Amo sounded surprised and a bit annoyed. “And, anyway, there’s always adoption. If you want a kid, just grab one.” Amo gestured to the playing children. “Take your pick.”
“Don’t joke.” Indirk walked into the square and looked at the stones. There were names engraved on them, though some of them were too worn away or overgrown to read.
“Who’s joking? Come on, let’s steal a kid.” Amo chuckled to themself, but the little laugh died when Indirk didn’t acknowledge it. They kept at Indirk’s heels, looking past her at the rocks. “A war memorial, right? All of these names of people who died in the war? Good. Fuck ‘em.”
“Amo,” Indirk groaned. “There are children around.”
“Wonder where their parents are.”
“They’re military kids. The Admiralty runs a school up the road.” Indirk stopped at one of the stones. “So behave yourself.”
“Why are we here?”
“I’ve been asking myself that about a lot of places lately.”
“Okay? That’s not an answer.” Amo eyed the stone Indirk had stopped at. The name was partially obscured, but other details carved into the stone were legible. “Hm. Big Revash name. Killed on the slope of Meidr? Nice, so one of our kills. His bones are probably still out there. Uhm… dead in 1073? I don’t remember any big battles in 1073, do you?”
“Yeah, I do. January of that year, they pushed up. Didn’t get very close.”
“So is the dead guy important?”
“Not really. Not on his own. This man commanded an infantry battalion during a Rhyqir invasion some thirty years ago.” Indirk used her claws to scratch at the moss overgrowing the name on the stone. “As near as I can tell, this is the man responsible for getting my parents killed.”
