“You think so?” Morgan turns his head and spits. “I’ll kill you myself.”
The boy smiles into the fire. “Promise?”
“On the Lady’s bones.”
Colin flinches away as soon as the boy moves, turning so he won’t see what comes next, and that almost makes it worse when the screaming starts. He’s not going to look, doesn’t want to know, just wants to get out. He crosses to the door, shoves the chair out from under the knob. Before he can open it, though, a dog starts to bark from the other side, loud and deep, and then the door shudders with an impact. Colin jumps and steps back. The room smells like burning meat, blood, and the sour tang of piss.
The window, then, if he can’t use the door. Colin turns, and can’t help looking, just for a second. The boy is stepping back now, blood dripping from his knife to the carpet. Morgan’s face is a wreck, blood and thick clear fluids running down from the raw, red hollows where his eyes should be. His screams have faded to wet gurgling whimpers.
Colin has almost nothing to bring up, but his stomach heaves all the same. He yanks back the curtains, claws at the latch so he can shove the window open. The air outside is cold, sharp in his lungs, stinging at the corners of his eyes. But it helps, keeps him from losing what’s left of his composure. He half expects the boy to attack him, or at least laugh at his weakness, but it doesn’t happen.
After a minute or so, the gurgling stops. Colin doesn’t dare look again. Then the boy touches his shoulder, and he jumps. “We’re done, Drake. Let’s go.”
Colin looks up at the boy, whose expression is solicitous now, almost kind—despite the knife still in his hand, the stink of blood on the air. “How could you,” Colin says before he can think better of it. “I mean—what kind of person are you?”
The boy lets go of him. “Don’t you know?” He steps back so he can offer Colin a flourishy actor’s bow. “I’m Gabriel.”
“That’s not possible.” Colin gapes at the boy. “Gabriel’s just a legend! He doesn’t really exist.”
“Well,” the boy says, “that gives us something in common, doesn’t it?” He smiles brightly, as if that solved a problem instead of being utter nonsense, then winces when the dog starts barking again. “We should go. If there are any guardsmen around, that might get their attention.”
Colin nods. Lady’s cowl, he wouldn’t want the guard to find him here, not after . . . what they’ve done. “That sounds like a mastiff. If we’re going back through that door, you’re going first.”
The boy who claims to be Gabriel laughs. “You’ve already found us an escape.” He pushes the window the rest of the way open. “Ready, Drake? Out of the tower we go.” He climbs through the window, holding on to the sill and lowering himself down to hang before he drops. His knuckles are scarred, and Colin thinks of Captain Westfall again.
It’s not so much like theater now as like a bad dream, things half familiar and half horribly strange. How many times has he climbed out his own window like this?
He can’t help looking back into the room once more as he gets a leg over the sill. Morgan isn’t moving anymore, his head fallen forward, his nightshirt soaked dark with blood. Black Mother Ket, it’s a lot of blood. Either he’s fainted from the shock and the pain, or else . . . Gabriel . . . really did kill him after all. Colin’s not sure which is worse.
“Come on,” the boy—Gabriel—calls from the ground. “It’s clear.”
Colin shakes himself, tears his eyes away from the wreck that was Morgan, and makes the drop. He lands hard, and for an awful moment, he fears he might have turned his ankle, but it still takes his weight, so at least his luck hasn’t entirely deserted him yet.
The houses on either side are still dark, despite the screams and the dog’s barking. Gabriel—Colin realizes he can believe this boy is the sort to frighten even other criminals—is walking toward the front gate. He has Colin’s jacket in his hands and he’s going through the pockets.
“Stop that,” Colin says, jogging to catch up with him and snatching it back. A moment too late he realizes how reckless that is.
Gabriel just grins at him, though, like he’s pleased that Colin would try to make demands of him. “We should hurry. The night guard would rather be in taverns than on the streets, but that makes them mean if they do catch up to you.” He hauls himself over the fence, and Colin thinks that when he manages to get out of this mess, he’ll have to remember to tell Danny how much of being a street tough is actually a matter of good climbing skills.
He follows Gabriel over the fence and shrugs back into his coat. The night air feels even colder after the warmth of Morgan’s room, but at least it helps to clear his head.
“This way, Drake,” Gabriel says. “It’s late. We should go home.” Colin almost asks how long Gabriel intends to keep him around, save that he’s too likely to get an answer he doesn’t want to hear. Once the sun’s up and the city’s awake, he can try to talk Gabriel into taking him to Market—there’ll be crowds there to get lost in, and he can get a carriage home and be done with this whole terrible mess.
“It’s not far, is it?” he asks. The cobblestones are slick with dew, and his footing is uncertain as anything else tonight.
“Not too far. Had enough adventures for one night?” Gabriel sounds sympathetic. “Don’t worry. We can rest soon.”
Not soon enough—every turn they take leads further away from anything Colin recognizes or wants to. The houses grow smaller and more decrepit, the streets more narrow and filth ridden, like they’re heading straight south. Some of the huddled shapes in the alleys are people, Colin realizes when one of them stirs. He knew Casmile grew wild south of the river, and of course every city has beggars, doesn’t it? But being close enough to smell the stench of human waste, to see the rats scurrying in the streets, is nothing he ever thought he’d do.
“You could take me back to the port, if you’d like,” he ventures. “I could take a room there and not put you to any more trouble.”
“It should be fancier, shouldn’t it?” Gabriel says sadly. He makes one last turn and stops in front of a door, jiggling the knob until it turns. “You’ll want silks and jewels to make you happy.”
“I don’t mind,” Colin lies. Is it really that obvious where he comes from? He hopes Gabriel won’t follow that line of thought any further.
They climb a creaking, narrow set of stairs and walk down a dark, foul-smelling hallway, and Gabriel pushes open the door at the end. One night of this, Colin tells himself. He can stand this for one night, and then he’ll go home and bathe in pennyroyal until he doesn’t have any fleas left to remember it by.
The room is nearly bare, and as cold as the night outside—the one window is broken, two of its six panes gaping empty instead of filled with cloudy glass. There’s a small stove on one side of the room, and a crooked little table with nothing on it on the other side. The squat shape on the floor beside the table is probably a chamber pot. The dark lump to the left of the door, Colin realizes as Gabriel kicks off his boots and sits down on it, is supposed to be a mattress.
“I’ve left you room,” Gabriel says, stretching out beside the wall. “Time to sleep now, Drake,” he adds when Colin hesitates, as if his offer simply wasn’t clear.
Colin’s fairly sure Gabriel still has all his knives. “I can take the floor. It’s fine.”
“You’d be cold,” Gabriel says as Colin sits down on the floor and tries to pretend he’s content. “There’s only the one blanket.”
“I don’t mind,” Colin insists, even though he’s already chilled through. “Thank you, though. You’re very kind.”
“And you’re stubborn.” Gabriel crawls off the mattress, grabs Colin by the shoulder, and pushes him toward it. “You take it, then.”
“But—” Colin starts, and isn’t sure how to go on.
“Hesitate and I’ll change my mind.”
That sounds like a threat of some sort, so Colin stretches out on the mattress. There isn’t a pillow.
“Thank you,” he says.
Gabriel nods, and curls up on the floor with his head resting on his arm. “Good night, Drake.”
He drops off to sleep almost instantly, his breathing changing and his limbs deadweight limp. Colin lies awake in the dark and listens to Gabriel breathing, to the distant scratching that he fears is from rats in the walls. The mattress isn’t comfortable at all, a bit of straw poking at the bare skin of his neck. He reaches for the blanket crumpled beside the wall, a ragged old thing that’s stiff in a few spots and threadbare in others. How does Gabriel—why would Gabriel live like this? When he’s so dangerous he’s practically a myth, why would he be stuck in some filthy little hovel like this?
Colin rolls over to peer at Gabriel again, as if there’s a visible answer to that question. He must be freezing. And that doesn’t make sense either: why would a remorseless killer insist on giving Colin his bed and blanket when he clearly needs them himself?
When Colin sits up, Gabriel doesn’t move. Maybe if he were to leave very quietly . . . But then he’d be lost in the dark in the far south end of the city, and that might be worse than Gabriel’s company. So Colin reaches out to spread the blanket over Gabriel’s thin shoulders, and lies back down on the mattress himself. He tucks his hands in his armpits to keep them warm and closes his eyes. It should be hard to sleep like this, but the weight of the whole long impossible night bears down on him, and despite the cold, despite the fear, he sinks under it.
Colin wakes pinned beneath something heavy and warm, and for a moment he’s completely disoriented. “Maddie?” he mumbles, reaching up to push his way free before he remembers that it’s been years since he had a dog. Then he takes a deeper breath that smells of muddy straw, damp wood, and sweat, and more recent memories come back to him in a nasty, sobering rush like cold water down his back. His eyes snap open. “What are you doing?”
Gabriel has draped himself over Colin with the blanket covering them both. “You’re so warm,” he says, thin fingers curling tight around Colin’s arms. “I knew you would be.”
“That’s . . . natural, isn’t it?” Colin holds very still, trying to figure out how he can decline if this really is what it seems like, whether Gabriel will even let him refuse.
“It’s a very good disguise,” Gabriel goes on. He levers himself up on one elbow and looks Colin in the eyes. “Most people probably never even suspect, do they?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Colin says. Gabriel’s eyes are so dark, he can’t tell where the color fades into the black. He looks away nervously. “What disguise?”
Gabriel shifts to move back into his line of sight. “It’s very clever. But you don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Colin hears his own heartbeat in his ears, and wonders if Gabriel can smell fear, like a dog. “Won’t tell anyone what?” He looks away again.
“What you are,” Gabriel says. He takes hold of Colin’s jaw, turns his face so they’re eye to eye again. His eyes widen like he’s surprised. “You’re so soft.” He runs gentle fingers over Colin’s face, and Colin closes his eyes, trying desperately not to think about what Gabriel did to Morgan last night. But Gabriel’s touch remains gentle, and Colin is starting to believe that this might be an appallingly clumsy romantic overture after all, when Gabriel says, “Such a clever dragon.”
Colin opens his eyes again, unsure if that was just fancy, or if Gabriel really is mad enough to mean it literally. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Gabriel tells him again, petting his hair. “I’ll keep your secret. I’m good at that.”
“Gabriel,” Colin says slowly, “there’s no such thing as dragons.”
Gabriel nods solemnly. “I know. I told you last night, I’m like that too. Except there are more sightings of me.” Colin glances toward the door, and Gabriel hisses like an alley cat. “Don’t do that. I’m your friend, Drake. I won’t hurt you. Where did you come from? Why did you come to Casmile?”
“I’ve lived—” he almost says here, but that’s not right, not even close “—in Casmile all my life. I’m a boy just like you.”
“Nobody’s just like me,” Gabriel says. “Look at me, Drake. It’s better when I can see your eyes.” Colin flinches; it feels like a challenge, like he’s exposing himself. But making Gabriel angry would be worse. He looks up reluctantly, and Gabriel relaxes a fraction. “There. Much better. If you can’t tell the story to a stranger, that’s all right. I’ll wait.”
“I don’t have any stories to tell,” Colin says helplessly. He tries to picture himself relating society rumors to Gabriel: Lady Montrose’s scandalous festival dress, or the gossip about whose engagements were likely to falter for want of income. “Not good ones, I mean.” The longer he keeps looking at Gabriel, the harder it gets. He closes his eyes. “I’m just a boy who—”
“You’re lying again!” Gabriel slams his hand down on the mattress beside Colin’s head. A little puff of straw dust rises from the fabric, and Colin coughs. “Don’t look away, Drake.”
He needs to get out of here, and the sooner the better. He makes himself meet Gabriel’s stare, and tries to stay calm. It’s like bluffing high, isn’t it? Too high, but he won’t think about that. “I’m nobody special,” he says, and he can see skepticism on Gabriel’s face. “But I am hungry. I’m not sure I’d even remember a story before I’ve had some breakfast.”
Gabriel laughs, and sits back so the blanket slides off his shoulders. “Then I’ll have to feed you. What do dragons eat for breakfast?”
Maidens with jam, Colin almost says, save that it would be a nightmare if Gabriel believed him. He can bluff his way through this. He knows his nursery rhymes well enough. “I can’t speak for the race of dragons, but I’d like some sweet rolls.” No, he should be more specific, demand more luxury. “Cakes with cinnamon and honey.”
“You see? You give yourself away, Drake. Normal boys don’t have such fancy tastes.” Gabriel shifts his weight to let Colin up at last, and reaches for his boots. “But we’ll go find you some cakes anyway.”
“Thank you,” Colin says, sitting up gingerly.
Gabriel’s room doesn’t look much more appealing by daylight than it did the night before. The walls might have been white when the plaster was first applied, but now they’re more of a dingy yellow. The ceiling has water stains in several places, and sags in a way that speaks ill of its future. Near the window, the floor has a few sagging spots too, where the boards look to be rotting away.
And Gabriel is watching him. “You came from someplace glorious, didn’t you,” Gabriel says. “Some glittering cavern full of treasure.”
Colin thinks of his parents’ house, of the ballroom with all its fixtures polished and the lanterns blazing for the first party of the winter season. “Something like that,” he says. He tugs on his boots and stands up. “Shall we go?”
He follows Gabriel out of the room and down the stairs. The building feels cramped in the daytime, less the looming threat it seemed last night and more simply pathetic. There’s no lock for the front door, just like there was no lock for Gabriel’s room.
“Don’t you worry about people taking your things?” Colin asks. Granted, he didn’t see much in Gabriel’s room to begin with, but it still seems strange.
“No.” Gabriel grins in a horrible, predatory way. “It’s only happened once.”
Outside, the street is dreary, the colors drab and waterlogged even in the bright morning sun. The best of the houses might be salvageable with some fresh paint and the attention of a skilled carpenter; the worst of them seem to be collapsing slowly inward, into dark caves with mouths of jagged, rotting beams. There are a few men loitering on corners and in doorways, not doing anything in particular, just watching as Colin and Gabriel pass. Colin hopes he’s imagining the challenge in their dark eyes. “Where are we? I mean, what street?”
“Cypress,” Gabriel says, stepping over a hole in the street where the cobblestones are entirely gone. “Near the south
end. Not far from the Lady’s house.”
“The what?” Colin tries to think if he’s ever even heard of a Cypress Street, and whether it will take them back to the river.
Gabriel reaches into his shirt and pulls out a bone pendant on a string. “The Green Lady’s house. I go to visit with her sometimes. She gave me this.” The pendant is of northlands make, carved in the shape of a little howling wolf.
“She gave you . . . You robbed someone’s grave,” Colin translates. The Green Lady’s house can only be the graveyard, where she grinds men’s bones to powder and presses their flesh for blood to water her wild gardens. Colin thinks of the rumors Captain Westfall repeated last night. They sound less far-fetched now.
“She gave it to me,” Gabriel insists. “I saw her take a man right into the black earth, swallow him up whole, and she gave me a present for not being afraid.” He glares, like he’s waiting for Colin to call him a liar.
Colin doesn’t dare. He holds his tongue as they walk up Cypress Street, coming north, slowly making their way out of the pits of filth and misery and back toward the Casmile that Colin knows. They pass a few shops with tradesmen’s signs hung outside, candlemakers and glassblowers. Soon, now, they must reach safety.
Cypress empties into a larger street, where they cross one of the smaller bridges, and then finally they reach Market Square, with the auction house broad and sturdy along its south side and the specialty traders opening their doors for the morning crowds. There’s a band of travelers telling fortunes and selling love charms, and a group of musicians have claimed one corner to play for coin. Colin takes a deep breath—salt air from the harbor, baking bread, the morning’s fish catch—and lets it out in relief.
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