by Tara Sim
“Before we get started, I need to know what you may have already learned,” Liesl said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “And then drill those teachings out of you.”
Cayo shifted on his feet. Under the women’s stares, he couldn’t help but feel woefully inadequate.
“I haven’t really learned anything,” he mumbled. “Just how to escape muggers.”
“That’s come in handy, it seems.”
He scowled. “That’s why I’m here. If I can’t protect myself, how can I protect Soria? Or anyone?” Cayo gritted his teeth and looked away. “I know I’m not skilled, or… or useful like the rest of you. I want to change that.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as they processed his words. Liesl eventually cleared her throat.
“We’re not here to make you feel like you’re at a disadvantage,” she said, her voice a little softer. “I mean, you are, but you’re taking steps to strengthen yourself. That’s admirable, and perhaps long overdue. Better now than never.”
Cayo nodded, grateful for the words. Then Liesl handed him a knife.
“Let’s get to work.”
Cayo was afraid they would immediately launch into a death brawl and was strangely disappointed when Liesl only showed him the different ways to hold a knife. The hilt felt clumsy and strange in his hand, as if it knew as well as he did that it didn’t belong there.
“Feet wider apart,” Liesl ordered. “Move the back one more on an angle. Not that far. Do you want to fall over?”
He patiently suffered through it, swallowing his retorts and sighs. He was tired after his second day at work, making him sluggish. Amaya sat against a chimney and watched while Deadshot cleaned her nails with the tip of a dagger. Cayo guessed an hour had passed by the time Liesl got out her own knife.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s teach you some sparring.”
She showed him how to block, how to leap back and to the side when the enemy lunged, how to target the weak points in an adversary’s musculature. When she went through the movement with him, though, he was slow and unsure, and Liesl kept tapping the places she could hit if they were actually fighting.
“Wrist—cut. Artery—severed. Chest—stabbed.”
“I get it,” he grumbled. “I’ll try again.”
They went through it a few more times, but Cayo’s coordination was off. He glanced over to find Amaya still watching, wearing a small frown. Heat rose up his neck under her scrutiny, his shoulders hunching in discomfort.
Liesl switched tactics to offensive strategy instead. She taught him how to lunge, how to slash and how to stab. He held back more than she wanted him to, but he was afraid he might accidentally nick her.
“Stop focusing on that and start focusing on what your body is doing,” Liesl told him.
But that was what he least wanted to do, knowing that Amaya was right there, silently judging his every move. When he stepped forward and jabbed toward Liesl’s midsection, she easily disarmed him. The knife slid across the roof.
“You’re ignoring what I said about how to hold it,” Liesl admonished. “Do you actually want to be taught, or no?”
“I do, I just…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Nobody gets it right on their first day. Trust me, I was once just as frustrated as you are now.”
“But you had time to learn this stuff. I don’t.”
“That’s why you need to listen carefully to what I’m telling you.”
“I am, but—”
“I’ll help.”
Amaya had retrieved the knife. She handed it back to him, hilt first, and he accepted it with a small nod of thanks.
“There are a few things that helped me when I was being taught,” Amaya said. “If you’d like me to tell you.”
He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was offering to help rebuild the bridge between them, meeting him brick for brick. But there was a flightiness to her eyes, and her jaw was clenched.
He still hadn’t forgiven her for lying to him, for deceiving him in Moray. But perhaps the time for forgiveness had come and gone. If he were being honest, he didn’t know what he felt anymore; everything had been funneled into a helpless anger, a grim acceptance that what had happened wasn’t merely Amaya’s fault. It had been Boon’s as well, and the Slum King’s, and his father’s. Especially his father’s.
Cayo nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She relaxed slightly.
“I’ll watch your form,” Liesl said, going to stand beside Deadshot. “Remember what I said about your grip.”
Cayo glared down at his hand, readjusting his fingers. It still didn’t feel quite right.
“An egg,” Amaya murmured.
“What?”
“Think about how you’d hold an egg. Not too tight, because the shell will break, but not too loose because it’ll fall and crack.”
He revisited a blurry memory of traveling the countryside with his family, how his mother had insisted on buying eggs from a farm they’d passed. He had marveled at the delicate eggs his mother put in his hands, their shells brown and slightly rough against his skin. He shifted his grip on the knife, thinking about those eggs.
“Arm up,” Amaya said, lifting her own knife. “Now dodge.”
They worked through the same movements, the same lunge and step, the same slash and block. But Cayo found himself far more focused on Amaya than himself; the way she moved like flowing water, in and out like the tide. There was surety in her limbs, in her expression, in the way she flicked her knife like she intended to use it.
It brought a strange moment of dissociation as he staggered back. For a moment, he saw her in an elaborate gown of flowers. Her face was touched with rouge, her dark hair in elegant coils. She was giving him that small, contained smile, a delicious secret hidden in the curve of her lips.
But no—that was Countess Yamaa, the girl he had found himself pulled to like a raft to shore.
This girl was Amaya, her dark hair frizzing out of its braid, her mouth a thin, grim line. No dresses to hide behind. No title to use as a shield. Just the ferocity in her eyes and the power in her body.
And she was just as beautiful.
Her boot connected with his chest. Cayo grunted as he fell backward, catching himself on the hard roof as the knife went skittering from his hand again.
Amaya stood over him, that concerned expression back. “Maybe knives aren’t for you.” She turned toward Liesl. “Should we try a sword?”
“One thing at a time,” Liesl said. “For now, let’s practice some hand to hand before it gets dark.”
Cayo laid back with a sigh, half considering rolling off the edge of the roof to escape them. But Amaya’s eyes were still on him, and he felt it like a touch, an invisible string pulling at him to get up and try again.
So he got back to his feet and tried again.
Work the next day was its own special hell. Cayo spent the early morning cursing out Liesl and Amaya as his limbs screamed every time he moved. When he crouched to retrieve the fish, he gasped and nearly tottered over as his thighs twanged with pain.
“Why you twitching about?” Victor demanded. “Sick?”
Cayo tried to respond in Soléne so that the man would stop using his broken Rehanese. “I’m not sick. I was… training.”
“You were fishing? Why you fish when fish are right here?”
“No, tra—You know what, never mind.”
As soon as he was done setting up the display of fish, Victor handed him an address on a slip of paper.
“Delivery,” the man grunted. “Special customer. Do not lose.”
Cayo studied the address. It was near the shopping district they had passed on their first night here, but it would take some time to find the street, if his past experiences were anything to go by. Victor gestured to a small sack behind him.
“Go before these spoils.”
Cayo hauled the sack over his shoulder, gratef
ul to get away from the market. It was loud and cold and smelled awful, although every day he found himself acclimating to it a little more.
Was this how people did it, then? They found a profession they could somewhat tolerate until it simply became routine?
The sky was sunny and clear, which meant more people out and about. Women donned bonnets and kerchiefs to protect from the sun while the men wore wide brimmed hats. Back in Moray, Cayo would have seen a sea of paper parasols.
A surge of homesickness rose within him. He wished he were sitting on the balcony of Mercado Manor watching the sea with Soria, like their mother used to do with them.
Cayo wandered between shops in search of the right address. The store fronts were charming and elegant, paneled with stone and wood and latticework, some with lavish window displays and others with floral designs painted around the names above the doors.
Once Soria was feeling better, he would take her here. They couldn’t buy anything—not like they used to—but he wanted to see her eyes light up in glee, trying on dresses and jewelry and cooing over adorable ceramic animal figurines.
He stepped off the main street and eventually found the road he was looking for. The address led him to a shop facade subtler than the ones Cayo had just seen. Above the door was painted a symbol in gold: a circle containing a geometric star.
Cayo had seen this symbol before, on their first night here. When he had asked what it meant, Remy had told him that Chalier—Baleine in particular—had a growing population of alchemists.
Alchemy was a peculiar thing; most seemed to think of it as magic, though in reality it was more a type of science. People in Moray tended to be wary of alchemists, superstitious and unwilling to get caught up in a practice they knew nothing about.
Perhaps they had been right to fear it. After all, the counterfeit coins had been made using alchemical means.
Cayo shoved through the door, and his senses were immediately bombarded. Tables and shelves were crowded with a variety of odd tools and vials, some looking fit to double as torture devices. There were powders and liquids and bricks of herbs, as well as small lumps of clay and charcoal. Symbols had been painted on the walls, and Cayo vaguely recognized them as the symbols for copper, silver, and gold. The smell of the place was reminiscent of metal, a sharp tang with an undercurrent of earthy loam.
There was no one in the shop, so Cayo uncertainly approached the counter in the back. On top of it was a bizarre device supplying a small flame under a glass beaker, the purplish contents simmering with tiny bubbles.
“Hello?” Cayo called in Soléne. “I have a delivery.”
A curtain hanging from an open doorway parted. A man in his late midyears peered out suspiciously, glasses reflecting the flame under the beaker.
“Victor Belar?” the man asked.
“I’m one of his workers,” Cayo tried to say.
“You’re one of his nieces?”
“No, I—Victor sent me.” He really had to work on his Soléne.
The man came out, brushing off his hands. They were coated with a reddish dust that clouded in the air. He was slightly taller than Cayo and paler, with a head of graying dark hair and a strong, protruding chin. He gestured to the sack, and Cayo handed it over.
Cayo checked the name on the slip of paper. “Are you Francis Florimond?”
“Aye.” The man bent his head over the open sack, taking a deep whiff. Cayo’s mouth twisted; he’d had enough fish smells for one day. “Seems good. Hold on, I’ll get the payment.”
Florimond took the sack into the back room—his workshop, Cayo guessed. While he waited, Cayo wandered through the aisles of tables, spinning a cog on a tool he had no name for and studying a jar containing a peculiar silver liquid. When Florimond returned, he lifted an eyebrow at Cayo.
“That’s poisonous, you know.” He had switched to Rehanese.
Cayo smartly took a step back. “Sorry. I’m just curious about… all this.” He gestured to the shop around him. “What do alchemists do, exactly?”
Florimond harrumphed and set a small pouch of coins on the counter. “Not an easy thing to explain, boy. Even the basics would make your ears wither.”
“I know there’s something about… manipulation? Transformation?”
“That’s a simple way to put it, sure.” When Cayo waited for elaboration, he rolled his eyes. “You got the four main elements—water, earth, air, fire—and everything derives from them. When you rearrange their properties, you get something else.” Florimond shrugged, as if that made perfect sense. “In the past, it was thought to be more charlatanry than science. The rich would drink mercury and liquid gold, thinking it would extend their lives. Rather, it did just the opposite. Nowadays it’s mostly creating goods. Gunpowder. Medicine.”
“Oh.” Cayo glanced at the curtain to the workshop. “Why do you need fish, then?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” the man grumbled. “I use their guts sometimes. Or grind up their bones. Or just fry them for dinner. Now, if you’re done, I need to get back to work.”
“Are you hiring?” He cringed as he blurted it, but he would much prefer working in a place like this than the fish market.
Florimond scowled. “I work alone. Besides, I don’t want Victor coming in here to yell at me for stealing one of his workers. Or niece. Whichever you are.” The man disappeared into the back.
Cayo sighed and took the payment, stuffing it into his pocket. At least he’d given it a shot.
He rushed to the hospital as soon as he was done for the day, trying his best to ignore the heavy ache in his arms and legs and the way his chest felt as if it were about to collapse at any moment. Stumbling through the incense-choked street, he coughed into his sleeve and burst through the doors, out of breath.
A nearby nurse started at his entrance. “Sir—”
“Visitation ends in an hour,” he reminded her. She pursed her lips in annoyance before continuing her rounds.
He made his way slowly up the stairs, cursing Liesl with every step as his thighs burned. Before he went to Soria’s room, he made a beeline toward the offices that Mother Hilas had shown him.
“The hospital administrator takes care of all the finances,” she had explained. “In order to pay for your sister’s treatment, you’ll need to make payments to him directly.”
The door to the office was open, so Cayo knocked and stepped inside. The administrator was seated at his desk and grinned in welcome.
“Mr. Lin,” he greeted. “Nice to see you again. I assume you’re here to make a payment?”
Cayo nodded and took the two niera from his pocket. He had run here straight from the fish market, going the long way around to avoid the spot where he’d been accosted by those thieves.
His chest tightened as the administrator took the niera with a pained expression. “Ah… Mr. Lin, I hate to say this, but…”
“It’s not enough,” Cayo finished for him. “I know, but there were thieves, and they…” What was he doing, making excuses? It wouldn’t change the fact that he was still short. “I’m sorry.”
The administrator rolled the coins in his hand, considering. “I’ll tell you what. We can get your sister the medicine tomorrow and see how the treatment progresses, and you can make up the difference later. You’d still be responsible for paying the five niera for the next treatment, though.”
“I… Thank you.” The pressure in his chest loosened somewhat. “I appreciate it. I promise I’ll get you the rest.”
When he sat beside Soria’s bed, she was asleep. His sister was pale today, the bags under her eyes pronounced, her breath wheezing in her lungs. She would at least be getting the first treatment, but what if he couldn’t make enough for the next one? Or the one after that? According to Mother Hilas, she would need a dose every two days at minimum.
Cayo rubbed his hands over his face. They still smelled like fish. There was no chance he could possibly make enough money working for Victor. Could Jasper find anot
her job for him? Could he possibly work two at once?
He thought back to the alchemist’s shop. There were several in the city, and he wondered which ones were helping develop the treatment for ash fever. Perhaps Florimond needed those fish guts for a cure. If he went back and begged for a part-time position… if he were persistent about it, if he could somehow have a hand in finding a cure for Soria…
Then again, the opposite could be true as well. Amaya and Remy had found out that the counterfeit money was being mingled in with Chalier currency.
If I found a way to get in with the alchemists, could I find out who’s creating the counterfeits?
He was thoroughly lost in thought when the door to the room opened and a woman escorted by a nurse entered. The woman sat beside the sleeping boy across the room, murmuring to him in Soléne as she smoothed his hair back. Cayo averted his eyes, giving them privacy.
Soria stirred at their voices, eyes fluttering open. “Oh. Hello. How—” She paused to cough into her fist. “How was self-defense training?”
He had mentioned the idea to her last time he was here. He had expected her to laugh and tease him, but instead, she had nodded grimly and said, “About time.”
“It was…” Cayo unwillingly recalled all the times he’d been disarmed, kicked, and pushed. “Well, it could have gone better.”
“They walloped you, didn’t they?”
“I wouldn’t say walloped…” She delicately raised her eyebrows. “All right, fine, they walloped me.”
She laughed, which turned into a cough. He poured her some water.
“Is Amaya teaching you how to use a knife?” she asked after a couple of sips.
“We’ve ruled knives out. I’m no good with them.”
“Oh?” The corners of her chapped lips twitched. “Were you a little distracted, perhaps?” She cried out in indignation as he poked a spot in her side where he knew she was ticklish. The sound made the woman at the other bed glare at them, and they ducked their heads with suppressed laughs.
In a quieter voice, he told her more about the practice session, as well as how his work at the fish market was going. There was a brightness in her eyes as he talked, the same expression she’d worn when he had renounced his lifestyle in the Vice Sector.