The two men had retreated into Ruddy’s since so few walked the streets due to rain. They sat at a corner table adjacent to the door, stiff-backed, out-of-place, and gruffly annoyed any customer who shuffled too near. The crowd numbers matched the Eaves, which meant several individuals backed into their table area and paid the price in verbal abuse.
Sherridan braved the bar while Lapis squeezed her and Eithne into a space against the opposite wall, away from the brashest drinkers. The other woman observed everything with curious delight, a reaction she would anticipate from a tourist but not a native Jilvaynan. She smiled brightly and accepted the drink that Sherridan gave her and sniffed at it before carefully taking a small sip. One cheek curled up as she winced.
“Ruddy’s doesn’t have for the best brews,” he apologized. “If you want, I can take you to a better place later, one that doesn’t water their beer and add sour to every mixed drink.”
“I’d like that,” she admitted. “I’d like something a bit more memorable for my first time in Jiy. I thought Coriy was huge! But Jiy is so much bigger.”
“Where are you from?” Lapis asked. She judged, by her accent, that she hailed from a rural settlement.
“Kewrik,” she admitted. “It’s a small farming community in the southern hills. There isn’t much there besides grain and a couple of orchards.”
Lapis sipped the drink; for Ruddy’s, the taste was downright divine. Compared to any other bar, it was undrinkable swill. “Sounds like the south.”
“I haven’t traveled south,” Sherridan admitted. “Only to communities in the north and east. The plains are littered with farms and small towns.”
The rest of his words drowned under a few louder individuals who said something about trouble in the Kells, but the majority of the custom ignored them—except for the two men, who took an unwarranted interest in the talk. That bothered Lapis, and from Sherridan’s expression, he disliked it as well.
“Maybe I should stay,” Sherridan said. “It looks like they may have more of a local interest in things.”
Lapis nodded as Eithne looked startled. “You wouldn’t mind?” she asked. “I’m not up on Jiy happenings. I’ve spent the last year nosing about rural communities and seeing if their new Headpeople are working out. It’s not the most exciting of experiences.”
“Oh, come now. Watching cows mate and grass grow can be rewarding.” Lapis grinned, reminded of Patch. She did not mind the country, but he was a city boy through and through, and every venture into the fresh air irritated him into a constant barrage of dark complaints. He stopped voicing them when she, annoyed in return, had snapped at him about it, but he continued to snarl inwardly, glaring at any poor blade of grass or animal visible along the roadways.
Sherridan laughed. “Patch usually puts a few more explicit words in that description.”
“His fondness of the country equals his fondness of the throne.” She handed him her half-drank beverage. “Have the rest,” she said, magnanimous. “I need to return to the Eaves. How many did Faelan bring?”
“He brought everyone who works this type of job that he trusts,” Eithne whispered. “There aren’t that many of us, truthfully. You need to know—those at the Eaves right now, the Blue Council isn’t expecting them. We’re not officially here, but protecting Midir is far more important than our original intent, so Faelan’s using us.” She pointed at her. “Faelan trusts you explicitly. He told us that. That’s why Adelind is so upset. She’s tried everything to get into his good graces, but nothing works.”
“Nothing will,” Lapis told her. “He knew Adelind from before his family died. She was an ass then, she’s an ass now. Why is she with you?”
“Ehren,” Eithne replied. “They’re together, though I think it’s more on her side than his.” She cocked her head. “You know them.”
“I used to. Anyway, stay safe. I don’t want to see anyone else’s life upended unexpectedly.”
Sherridan gripped her arm in sympathy before she moved away. She had expected him and Brander to seethe about her revelations, but they both swallowed the shocking news and continued on. Sherridan’s initial frustration had not stomped on their mutual respect, and she hoped she proved worthy of the trust. Of course, through her and Patch, they now had a place within Faelan’s inner circle, something she doubted either would casually throw away. They had too much vested in the rebellion for that.
She still did not understand the lack of distrust, of hate, that accompanied her revelations. She anticipated it from Faelan, Varr, Midir, but they only seemed relieved and overjoyed that she survived the terrible slaughter. They seemed to want to renew their relationship with her. Why? Tearlach’s initial gut-punch of shock did not ride with him, either. Why? She expected Ciaran’s nonchalant acceptance because he and his mother knew, from the beginning, about her escape. But the others?
Her hair raised on the back of her neck, as the two suspicious men rose and followed her out the door.
She slipped to the side and turned, ready to trigger her blades, but they ignored her. While the dark and rain had driven most people into shelter, a woman on the brink of middle age and two escorts hurried down the way. She wore a typical wealthy-merchant coat of a softly shimmery, pale pink, the buttons to the right side and sparkling, and a wide-brimmed matching hat with a fake jewel design in the front. They froze as the one nearest Lapis pulled a bulbous, red tech thing that reminded her of the Alchemist’s weapon. Were they actually Hoyt’s men?
She whipped around and slashed, ripping through cloth and flesh, exposing bone. He howled and dropped the weapon, clutching at his gushing wound. His partner did not react before Sherridan nailed his head, his metal knuckles glinting in the dim light. He toppled as a couple more guttershanks ran out Ruddy’s door; hired help, and they held their knives as poorly as those Hoyt employed at the Tree Streets Guardhouse. If he wished to take on syndicates like the Minq, he needed to upgrade to undershanks rather than rely on easily bought but incompetent street thugs.
Eithne tripped the backup; they flailed, fell, and floundered on top of one another before rolling excitedly around, trying to gain their feet. Lapis snaked her blade under one’s chin, and they all stopped, frozen, their eyes twitching. They would run, given a moment.
“Did they hire you?” she asked coldly as she nodded at the two felled Dentherions.
“Need the bits,” one whimpered as a thin trickle of blood made its way down the neck of her target.
“Them’s hirin’, said it weren’t tough, just needed bodies,” another trembled. “Just t’night, here at Ruddy’s.”
“So you’re backup?”
Her target whined.
“They work for Hoyt?”
“No no no, jest Dentherions! Nuthin’ t’ do wit’ the Kells ‘n that mess!”
“Git.”
They fled, as fearful as the shanks that supported Nevid. Other customers within the bar emerged, to see the commotion, like good little curious Grey Streets residents. The wounded Dentherion howled something at them; they noted the dropped tech and stopped, fear striking fast and deep. Lapis cleared her throat.
“Whoever wants to ‘keep can keep the pot,” she told them. Only a couple stepped forward, interested; the rest retreated, stepping on each other’s heels, casting the tech terrified looks. It lay in the mud, splattered, useless, a truly horrifying sight.
“Thanks, Lady,” one said, toeing the weapon. Nothing happened; he sucked up a breath and used the ratty edges of his jacket to grab the item. “We’ll take ‘m on in.”
“Make sure they give you at least a silver for the tech.”
Another grinned. “Aye, Lady.”
Sherridan intercepted the three Dentherion targets before they moved much beyond the incident, and she and Eithne hustled to keep up.
“He has a stake?” the rebel asked.
“He has tech, so it won’t matter,” Lapis told her. “All they have to do is show the guards what he possessed. To get free, he and his partner will have to worm their way around some riled people who will automatically think they’re involved with what’s going on over in the Kells.”
The stranger bowed slightly to Sherridan, her black-gloved hands clenched, her desperation coating her. “Thank you for your concern, but really—”
Sherridan did not move. Her escorts, one man, one woman, tensed, though they did not reach for weapons. Good. Lapis did not look forward to harming another that night, but she would, if they pulled one.
“This isn’t a night to be out,” she began in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, as the unmistakable ting of a bell reached them. It came from the direction the three wished to go.
“Shit!” one of the shanks shouted. “Mama’s comin’! Let’s go, louts!” They quickly snagged their stakes’ feet, intent on dragging the two men to the nearest guardhouse. The injured one howled as they tugged him across the worn, broken road, but his struggles ended with a boot to the head.
The woman and her escorts frowned, confused, as Lapis sighed. “That’s the guard bell signaling Mama Poison’s up and about,” she told them. They blankly regarded her. “Mama Poison’s one of the carrion lizards that live in the Pit. She likes to take walks when the enclosure floods, and it’s rained a lot lately. It’s best to stay out of her way until she decides to wander on back.”
“A lizard?” one asked, skeptical.
“You can wait around and see for yourself,” Sherridan said congenially. “She’s larger than a farm wagon and faster than you think.”
The woman stared, aghast. “Larger than a farm wagon?”
“She’s old, big, and while not temperamental, if you fall on her bad side, she’ll take you out quickly.” Lapis jerked her chin after the shanks and their prize. “Do you think they’d flee before a small and insignificant lizard? If you want, the Eaves is a good place to hole up. You can hide in the crowd.”
“I thank you, but—” She trailed off, and her escorts gasped.
Lapis glanced over her shoulder as the large animal lumbered their way through the rainy mist, swaying side to side, filling the center of the road. She barely distinguished the bellringer jangling their bell, far behind the enormous beast.
“He did bleed a lot,” Sherridan admitted. Lapis nodded; it would not surprise her, for a carrion lizard to follow the scent of blood. She smiled warmly at the woman and headed the opposite direction, intent on taking a side alley, Eithne practically walked on her heels. She almost chuckled when the three strangers hastened their step and followed.
“What is that?” the woman asked, her voice trembling.
“Mama Poison.” Lapis attempted to make her voice as calm as possible. “Like I said, she’s a carrion lizard. There are several in the Pit, and they’re large, strong, and we basically let them do what they want when they walk around town. Mama’s usually the one who leaves, though. She’s quite amiable, if you don’t anger her. She typically ignores us as she wanders about, but every so often, some stupid shank will decide to tangle with her. Her claws are deadly, and then she eats you.”
The stranger looked to puke.
Eithne did not look much better.
“I . . . have a question.” One of the escorts hissed, and the stranger hissed back. “Are you chasers?”
Lapis nodded. “Out on a stake that’s taken an odd turn,” she said. “Why?”
“Someone called you Lady.”
“I’m Lady Lanth,” she said carefully. Any identity she wished to hide from the rebels had already washed away with the tide of ill-luck, but she did not know what the stranger wanted to do with the knowledge. Did she work for Hoyt?
The woman nodded abruptly and dug her hand into her coat pocket; Lapis tensed, but she only retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. She took it, unfolded it, and stared at an old but obvious portrait of Faelan and Midir. It was a Dentherion-style image, taken with their special cameras, not painted or sketched, like a Jilvaynan one. “I’m looking for these men,” she said.
Both Sherridan and Eithne peeked over her shoulder, and Lapis gave them credit for not reacting to the unexpected question. She slowed, halted, turned on her heel, and held up her index finger. All others stopped with her.
“I want a truthful answer,” she told the woman, keeping a pleasant tone. “And maybe I can help. Why are you looking for them?”
The two escorts might have throttled her in another situation, but their warning glares did not stop her. She swallowed hard, then licked her lips and regarded the picture. “I’m here for a special meeting with them, but, well, the Kells—”
Lapis’s mind whirled. Had Midir set up a pre-meeting? Did Faelan know? Was that why Sir Adrastos went to the Kells? He played more of a role in the rebellion than Lapis thought. “And who is your mutual contact? Not Hoyt, I hope.”
She relaxed slightly. “No. Everyone at the bridge whispered about him, but I don’t know who that is. Our contact is named Carnival.”
Istak was Carnival to those outside the Wolf Collaborate. Shit.
“Well, you’re in luck,” Lapis said. She held up the paper. “Because I do know where to find the men in this pic. That mess at the Kells isn’t the disaster I thought. We can discuss payment at the Eaves. Sherridan, would you mind getting a table?”
It made her nervous to ask; he, after all, held a position of power within the rebellion while she was ‘Patch’s woman’. He slipped away without a word, continuing to play the part, while Eithne stood and smiled, a tinge of greed giving her the feel of a chaser. A good act. The escorts looked anything but happy, though the woman accepted her words without comment; something about her identity as Lady Lanth triggered it. She led them the few blocks to the Eaves, which stood, brightly lit in the downpour, an unintentional beacon. The noise from the packed house filtered into the dark, and she hoped it and the bodies who produced it concealed this unexpected meeting.
