Nasira glared at him. When that didn't have the effect she was looking for, she jabbed a finger into his shoulder, right where the poultice was.
Argus jerked back and swore. She reached for him again and he stood up, glowering. “Best leave it at that, love.”
“You wouldn't know love if it shat in your mouth.”
He grinned, revealing a large dimple on either cheek. “I know more than a few women who might dispute that.”
“I can't believe I went through the trouble of bandaging you up.”
“You'll need me in top form to protect you during the journey.”
Nasira put her hands on her hips. “So you accept, then?”
“The moment you admit why you're really doing this.”
“Bastard!” Nasira plowed forward, fists readied, and for a moment Argus was certain she would hit him. But she brushed right past him toward the barn. “I've had enough tormenting for tonight! My reasons are my own. The dragons will spend well enough. What else could you want?”
Nasira disappeared into the barn and slammed the door. Argus stood there watching for a moment, but after a few shuffling sounds there was only silence.
Harun got up and stomped out the last of the embers. He put his pipe away, chuckling. “You certainly have a way with words, Argus of Leith.”
“She hasn't told us everything. You know it's true.”
The Tokati walked closer and put a hand on his good shoulder. “So be it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “As far as I'm concerned, the less we know about this affair the better. You saw the dragons she made.”
Argus nodded.
“So will you come with us?”
“I s'pose.” His eyes settled on the stars. Not like I have a choice. The flamewalkers were dead. Nothing would change that. He'd bet his last dragon that their bodies had already been discovered. Those Calladonian soldiers had gotten a good look at him; they would remember his scar.
Harun clapped him on the back. “I knew you would. But if you try to slip away again—”
“I won't.” Argus pulled his old mercenary friend close and smelled the tobacco on him. “I have a bad feeling I'll need your sword if I hope to make it out of Calladon alive.”
“The feeling is mutual. I was in Hull, too. They knew I was hunting bounty. They knew we were friends…”
Argus clasped his friend's forearm. “So it's settled, then. We need each other.”
“For now,” said Harun, grinning. “I'll keep watch first. You go get some rest.”
Argus nodded. “Harun?”
“Yes?”
“Watch her close.”
CHAPTER NINE
Five days of rough sailing later, they stepped ashore on Davos.
A fisherman called Ersall had taken them from a nameless village on the Calladonian coast. His boat was too small to sail all the way to Azmar, but that hadn't stopped him from charging triple a reasonable rate for their passage. Nasira had spent most of the journey below decks, making counterfeit dragons to pay him.
Argus inhaled deeply and watched the dockworkers and merchants hurry past. Curses flew all around, dozens of languages represented, many of them directed at the new arrivals.
“Ah,” said Harun. “Home at last.”
Argus smiled. He hadn't had a true home since his exile from Leith seventeen years past. Davos was the next best thing. There were no lords or laws to speak of here. Not on Davos, where the ale flowed freely and men settled their disputes with swords instead of quills and courts.
Nasira stopped on the dock, oblivious to the grubby teamsters and rum-runners whistling at her from moored boats. Her mouth hung open as if waiting for an explanation.
“Let's go, Nasira,” Argus said. “Time for some ale and rest.”
“How does this place even—”
“None of it makes sense. Don't even try.” He put a hand on the small of her back and guided her over a coil of hemp rope.
“I've heard stories. But I assumed they were mostly exaggeration.”
Argus nodded. “There's nothing logical about this place. Difficult for someone from the Comet Tail to understand.”
She finally closed her mouth and shuffled along the dock. “It shouldn't be here. Not without a ruler or a banner or any laws. What kind of society is this?”
“A violent one,” said Harun. “One who doesn't appreciate you asking too many questions. You can be whoever you want to be when you arrive in Davos. But you leave your homeland—and its customs—in the sea. That is the price.”
Argus led them deeper into the chaos. He glanced back. Ersall's vessel had disappeared somewhere in the crush of dockworkers and boats. He was glad to leave it; his legs were wobbly, and his skin sunburned from the days at sea.
“Argus!” a woman ran up and threw her arms around him. She squeezed him so tightly he couldn't see her face. She told him he looked too thin, then gave him a sloppy kiss.
“Hi, Daphne,” he said, smiling. “How's business?”
The Rivannan gave the cart beside her a kick and said, “Comes and goes. Just like the tide, Argus. Just like the tide. Who's this pretty thing?”
“This is Nasira,” he said. “A friend we made hunting bounty in Calladon.”
Daphne spat into the murky water, then fell into a coughing fit so violent it nearly overturned her cart. “A pox on that place,” she gasped. “Who does Eamon think he is? Banning ale and brothels and denying us our natural urges. All for his Sculptor god—bah!”
Harun nodded. “Opens up a nice black market though.”
Daphne grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Such a sharp one, Harun. A strong one, too. Look what you've done, making an old hag like myself blush.”
“You look younger than last time I saw you,” Argus said. He wasn't lying. Daphne had looked the exact same to him since the first time he washed up on Davos. She had been ancient then, but hadn't aged a day since giving him some shrimp when they met.
Back when I had nothing at all, Argus thought.
She chuckled, revealing rows of yellow teeth with plenty of gaps between them. “You flatter me, boy. Watch out for these two, Nasira. They talk sweet. But they're nothing but trouble.”
Smiling, Nasira said, “I'll take that under consideration.”
“Good.” Daphne tapped her cart. “Now what do you have for me? Let's make a deal.”
Argus and Harun spent a few minutes offloading goods they'd collected during their bounty hunts in Calladon. They sold rings and candlesticks and books. Haggled. Always haggled until Daphne inevitably swore at them before they shook hands and made a deal. Nasira tried to participate, but gave up after getting completely lost.
Daphne added her new inventory to the cart and wished them well.
“Will you be here tomorrow at dawn?” Argus asked.
“Of course.”
“We'll see you then. We sail east.”
“Argus?”
“Yes?”
“One more thing.” Daphne motioned for them to move closer and whispered, “Watch yourselves up there. There have been some… rumors going around. Strange things happening up in town. Something about a sorceress.”
Argus arched an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
She threw up her hands. “I haven't seen her meself. I'm just telling you what I heard.”
“You have our thanks, Daphne. Farewell.”
They left Daphne and passed hundreds of others just like her—hawkers screaming at them and willing to deal. Cities like Azmar had ancient temples and marble statues. But Davos had fixtures of its own.
Harun asked about the sorceress, which Nasira dismissed immediately as outlandish gossip. But Argus wasn't convinced one way or the other. “Daphne is just doing what Daphne does. She's often wrong, but sometimes… strange things do happen here. That's all I'll say on the matter.”
His heart stirred. He wanted more than anything to believe it. A part of him that had burned inside ever since he was a child needed to believe it.
Even after all the terrible consequences from the magic powder. The addiction. Even though there supposedly hadn't been a healthy sorcerer or sorceress around since before he was born.
Nasira's mouth fell open when they turned off the main dock onto one of the smaller ones, part of a giant maze of them that extended as far as the eye could see. They passed men selling armor and weapons. Magic fiends shuffling across the wooden planks with vacant eyes. Barefoot kids fishing off the piers.
“Can anyone live here?” she asked. “Truly?”
“That's right,” Argus said. “So long as you don't interfere with another man's freedom or property.”
“Several have tried,” said Harun, marveling at the silver ring he'd picked up from Daphne. “But the moment people here get wind of someone trying to gain power… it's a long journey to the bottom of the sea.”
“It's larger than I could ever believe,” she said, mouth still agape. “This is pure chaos.”
“Some of us like it that way,” said Argus.
Deeper into the maze they went. Argus and Harun stopped periodically to sell treasure, buy supplies, and greet old friends. Once, when they stopped at a merchant's tent to browse some leather belts, a woman screeched at Argus from a nearby houseboat.
“Look what the tide brought in! Another no-good bastard!”
Argus turned away and pretended not to hear her. “We'd best move on.”
“Who's that?” Nasira asked.
Harun grinned. “Come on. Let's get to the Builders Bank. Dragons await.”
They navigated the maze of docks and loud voices until they finally stepped ashore.
“Ah,” said Argus. “Land at last.”
The houses were larger over here, the people quieter and better dressed. Living on the small, horseshoe-shaped island was a luxury most Davosi couldn't afford. It hadn't been that way thirty odd years ago, when Davos was founded. Space was scarce now; what had begun as a desolate outlaw hideaway had exploded into a bustling metropolis.
Argus led them through the cobblestone streets lining the shore. People gave them guarded looks. Clutched their weapons and coin purses tight.
Rich bastards, Argus thought. And the Builders Bank is the richest of them all.
That's where they were headed. They passed through a large garden, flowers of all sorts blooming, and followed Bank Road up the steep hill toward the highest point of Davos.
The higher they climbed, the quieter the streets. Save for the squawking gulls and conversations of the private guards who stood outside every home, the only thing Argus heard was the sea.
Nasira looked down the hill, to the floating city within a city and the sea beyond. “It's incredible.”
Harun laughed. “Just wait until you see the bank.”
They found it at the top of the hill and around the corner. Situated at the highest point on the island, the bank was built right into a mountain peak. It might as well have been a mountain itself. A perfectly square hunk of black obsidian, it lurked behind a pair of tall walls, complete with towers and arrow slits.
“Gods,” Nasira said.
The place was a veritable fortress—and just as unwelcoming.
They passed through an outer gate, survived a guard's interrogation, and were stopped at the inner gate just under the portcullis.
“Weapons!” a guard shouted. Other guards, all of them wearing plate and mail, came forward and searched their things. They confiscated their weapons and carried them away into a nearby guardhouse.
This was always the worst part. Not having Reaver by his side. Not knowing if she would still be there waiting for him when he got back.
Yet there was no time to linger. The guards shoved them along until they reached the base of a marble staircase, which wound all the way around the mountain up to the bank's entrance.
They started to climb.
“Are they always so cross?” Nasira asked.
Argus nodded. “Every bloody time.”
Around and around they went. He tried not to make eye contact with the guards, who stood with sword and shield every few steps. They were some of the world's most elite fighters. Argus had done a short stint in the bank guard himself, though he couldn't stand the monotony.
Sometimes, the guards liked to pick fights with climbers who struck them as too drunk or disrespectful to make it to the bank's entrance. It was a game to them. Picking which one to hassle, and, if they were stubborn enough to fight back, hurling them off the mountainside.
Finally they reached the top. Sweating, panting they passed through the towering mahogany door to handle their business.
“So this is where all money has been going,” Nasira said.
It was hard for Argus to believe it, but influential people spread across every corner of the world had similar arrangements. Every so often, special merchant ships, armed to the teeth with bank guard and other unsavory characters, would make pick ups at different ports.
The ports and pick-up schedules changed constantly to avoid piracy. The ships would sail back to Davos, where the funds were carefully counted. Then, after scribes recorded every transaction, the deposits made their way into accounts which were largely untraceable.
It was rumored that Lord Lucius Syrio, the patriarch of the family that controlled the city-state of Azmar, had a personal account so large it rivaled those of entire kingdoms.
As they waited in the long queue for an administrator, Argus's thoughts inevitably wandered to burgling the place. A few maniacs had tried, but every single one ended up as fish food. Which wasn't the least bit surprising considering all the guards and vaults, which were rumored to be protected by magic.
When they made it to the front of the queue, Nasira gave the clerk her account number and withdrew three thousand dragons. They'd agreed on half payment beforehand, and the other half once Argus and Harun got her safely to Azmar. Argus deposited almost all of his share, but Harun pocketed the money and said, “I intend to enjoy myself tonight.”
CHAPTER TEN
And enjoy themselves they did.
The sun was hardly down, and they were already well past drunk. An empty tankard of ale rested on their table, surrounded by lamb shanks and bowls of onion soup. Harun told bawdy jokes. Even Nasira laughed at them, though she always kept one hand on her dress—and the voxtrap beneath it.
“So,” said Argus, “what do you think of the Rusty Flagon?”
She shrugged. “It's worlds apart from the first artificer's library. That's for certain.”
“It's a library of a different kind. A place to study human nature.”
They watched fights break out, business deals made, and prostitutes with low-cut dresses and rouge cheeks gather by the bar. People from every corner of the world gathered here. A din of voices. Calladonians and Rivannan merchants. Exiles from the Comet Tail Isles and even a pair of surly Nalavacians talking quietly by the fireplace.
They listened to Harun's jokes until he ran out of them, growing drunker all the while. The tavern filled to the brim, and then some. People smoked and laughed and clinked glasses, filling the place with a warmth Argus hadn't felt in a while.
These are my people, he thought. Turncoats and fugitives and knaves. Lovable bastards, them all.
He'd already recognized a few. Old mercenary brothers from the Shadow's Sons, the Gray Battalion, and other units he'd served in but whose names escaped him. Traders and treasure hunters. And women—plenty of women who greeted him with stern words and scowls.
A Rivannan minstrel called Valamir strummed his lute and started to sing. He opened with a love ballad. The rowdy crowd sang along, one pair of men even stopping their fistfight to belt out the chorus.
The ballad ended, and the tavern erupted in applause.
As if on cue, in walked another familiar face.
Siggi didn't see them right away, even with Argus and Harun shouting his name. He was too busy trying to squeeze his pudgy belly through the crowd over to the bar. Somehow he managed it, eve
n with a girl under each arm.
They watched him down a glass of ale in a single gulp before Costin the barman poured him another. When the next song began, he sang louder than all the others. He was drunker than all the others too, but he had a beautiful voice and knew every word.
“Should I go get him?” said Harun.
Argus shrugged. “Why the blazes not?”
Harun wove through the crowd and Nasira asked, “Who's that?”
“That's Siggi. An old brother from the Legion of the Wind.”
“Is he wearing the robes of a priest of Blegga? Or are my eyes deceiving me?”
“Your eyes are drunk… but they see true, lady.”
“He's a priest and a mercenary and a womaniz—how does that work?”
Argus gulped down the last of his ale. “I'm sure he'll tell you all about it.”
* * *
Siggi didn't join them until half an hour later, after he disappeared upstairs with the girls and came back alone.
“Argus!” he called. “Harun!” He shoved his way through the patrons, many of whom had begun to sway drunkenly to Valamir's lute, and slammed a fresh pitcher of ale down on the table. Suds sloshed onto their clothes as he slid into the booth, face flushed. “Well met, you old curs!”
“Likewise,” said Harun, raising his glass.
Siggi raised his glass. “To the Legion!”
They clinked them and Argus watched the ale disappear.
Those were simpler times, he thought. Just marching and fighting for glory and plunder. He would have emptied his account at the Builders Bank to go back to them. Gladly. But he couldn't. Not anymore, when his bones were weary and his heart heavy from all the killing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, lads,” Siggi said. “But I had some… pressing matters to attend to.” He let out a belly laugh and shook his head. “I can't begin to tell you how much I love the women here.”
“I just don't see how you do it without squishing the poor girls,” said Harun, cocking his head.
Siggi glared at him. That glare quickly became a laugh, a convulsion that spread across his face and didn't end until he'd spat out his ale. “It's a fine art, lad. Takes plenty of delicate practice—oh!” His eyes bulged. They flickered to the end of the booth for the first time, where Nasira sat. “I don't mean to offend you, lady.”
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