He scowled and fully emerged from his fog of maudlin self-pity, for one of those people had just lost his grip on a plate of bread, scattering loaves across the filthy floor.
The boy had been sloppy and distracted all day. "Prak!" Kug descended the stairs, stifling the crawling sensation along his back as he left his post for more immediate responsibilities.
Prak visibly flinched. "The tray was wet!" he called out. The magn around the breadless table laughed.
Kug threaded the crowd to Prak's side. He recognized most of the bemused magn and, knowing them well enough, targeted one with a smile.
"Gerd, the only reason you can tease poor Prak is because the bread normally shoved between your teeth is under your tattered old boot!"
The table erupted with laughter, and Gerd led it. Kug put his hand between Prak's narrow shoulders and guided him off the floor and behind the bar, into the narrow storeroom off the kitchen. He closed the door.
Prak whined, "We can't leave Ressa out there by herself…"
"She's done her own work and half of yours, most of the night," Kug scoffed. "She'll be fine for a few bits." He spread his arms, fingers brushing the pots and pans hanging on the walls to either side, and relaxed his tone. "What's the trouble tonight, Prak?"
The boy's petulance went up with his voice. "Maybe if you were down there with us instead of…"
Prak shut his own mouth with an audible smack. He became intensely fascinated by anything in the room that wasn't Kug's face.
Kug found his perception narrow to exclude all but Prak.
"Instead… of… what?"
Prak puffed his thin chest and brought his head up to face Kug. "I know what's going on around here, Kug." His eyes were flinty with resentment and moist with fear. "Whatever you three are planning, you'd… I want a share. Or…" He spoke around trembling lips. "Or I'll tell them. I'll go to Dunak."
From the heart-strangled moment he'd seen the bundle hidden beneath Lama's coat, Kug assumed discovery, disaster, and death would follow her. The inevitability of their doom left no room for him to entertain denying anything.
Rather, Prak's threat gave spark to the knotty, brittle tangle of helpless frustration that had been shoved deep within for decades, since Kug had learned of Latha's murder; since he'd given up his own way of life to raise her ultimately thankless, wild daughter. A ball of dried brambles filled his heart, at last set ablaze.
Distantly, he saw his own thick hands around Prak's neck. As he shoved the boy against the wall, the clangor of cookware came to his ears as a muffled rattle. Prak's dirty fingernails tore the sleeves of his tunic and scratched red welts down his forearms, but Kug felt nothing.
Only Prak's strangled words could prick the shroud of rage.
"Not… the only one! You won't know! Never know!"
"What..?" Kug relaxed his grip; removed his hands; recoiled. "Someone else—"
Whatever Prak had in his hand, Kug never saw it. He only felt the impact against his head; heard the stomach-twisting crack; saw the red and black flare across his eyes.
He was fleetingly surprised the halfgrown kit could land such a blow.
And that was all.
Fagahg
From the moment Tah fell out of sight and full night spread across the sky, Fagahg had lurked near the Steadfast Capful. He wore plainly cut, rough garb similar to many of the dockside laborers that frequented the place. He did not enter. Neither loitering conspicuously nor canvassing suspiciously, Fagahg blended with the dwindling street traffic and kept careful watch on the entryway.
After a time, there were more people within than coming or going. Other than Dennick, in his shabby disguise as the drunk Hatul, none of the secondary players in the evening's drama had yet appeared.
If the sellsword did his job, Fagahg would know it, one way or another. He found welcome shadows at the mouth of the alley next to the Capful and settled in to wait.
He made use of the time by practicing partial communion with Nzaav: a variety of quasi-meditation in which his senses remained alert even as his heart rate and breathing slowed and his body temperature dropped.
Fagahg maintained this semi-somnolent state until the serving boy, bent, flailing, and gasping, burst down the alley and down the street, apparently oblivious to the statue-still magn less than a stride away.
Compelling.
Fagahg stepped from the shadows and watched the boy flee.
He quickly assessed his options.
The steady din of vital activity bled from the Steadfast Capful. A busy night.
Too busy for Dennick, or the sellsong, or the seer, to act?
The latter two had not appeared… but they could.
If Fagahg abandoned his vigil to pursue the boy, what mischief might he miss?
The boy, nearly at an intersection, stopped and bent at the waist, hands on his knees. He coughed, hacking and spitting.
Such a racket would eventually attract attention Fagahg did not want. He strode quickly down the street to the boy, wrapped one hand around his mouth, and dragged him into a semi-sheltered doorway.
He pushed the boy against the door and forced him to meet his eyes.
"Silence."
The boy's eyes bulged. He nodded frantically.
Fagahg took his hand off the boy's face. "Why did you leave?"
The boy frowned. "I have nothing. You can see. No pouch… my pockets might have a few bits of bread and cheese; you can have those, please, but I don't have any tokens. I'm sorry…"
"Why did you leave."
Fagahg watched the boy's eyes change as he realized he was not being robbed. A cold, almost acquiescent, understanding reflected there.
Fagahg had seen it many times.
The boy's voice came dull and low. "I got into a fight with Kug. With my employer."
"About?"
Now came a glimmer of hope, along with a slight tension in the body; a subtle shift in his stance.
"He's involved in something." A coy emphasis on the last word. "Something important."
Fagahg leaned into the serving boy, chest to chest. He cupped the sides of the boy's head in his hands.
"Tell me."
Now the retreat. Silence. The beginning of tears.
Fagahg found it fascinating. It was as if life itself understood its own inevitable destiny. The Sister knew her Brother.
The boy trembled.
"My name is Prak." His voice broke. Naming was a gambit for connection; a plea to empathy. Predictable.
Fagahg nodded. "I know you." It was a promise. A gesture of reassurance. "Tell me," he said again.
"Please. I…" Calculation raced across Prak's face. In a rush, he said, "I know where Ranith is. You can—"
There was little need to hear anything else, and the slippery warmth of sweaty flesh was making Fagahg's palms twitch.
The boy's neck broke easily. Too quickly, really.
He gently guided the empty body down to crouch in the doorway.
A meager gift.
Fagahg would have far grander offerings for Nzaav, before long.
Chapter Eighteen
Kug
Ressa's voice calling his name was the first thing to register, far away, or as if she were in a distant room.
Pain came next, a new stampede across Kug's skull with every heartbeat.
Ressa was suddenly very close. "Kug! Open your eyes, Kug."
And loud.
"Open your eyes."
He did as she asked. As soon as her face came into shaky focus, nausea took hold.
His dinner came burning up his throat and bubbling out his mouth and nostrils.
Ressa rolled him roughly onto his side. He retched again, moaning. Vomit pooled around his cheek, but at least it wouldn't choke him.
His overtaxed body could not bear Ressa's hand on his shoulder, though he knew it was an attempt to comfort. He groaned and twitched.
She drew back. "What happened to you? Where's Prak? Were we robbed?"
With great effort, timing his actions between hammer-falls of pain, Kug rolled onto his belly. "Please…" He propped himself on his elbows to keep his mouth off the filthy, puke-muddied floor. "I need…"
Ressa stood up with a little grunt. "Where is Prak?"
The lightest tint of suspicion colored her tone. Kug thought to laugh, but all he could manage was a cough. He blinked heavily and struggled into a deeply bent sitting position. He croaked, "So. He's left."
"I haven't seen him since the two of you left the floor half a mark ago. Maybe longer. It's a busy night." She fidgeted. "It's still a busy night…"
"Help me up." Kug held out his hand.
Ressa took his hand in both of hers. "Kug, what happened?" She bent at the knees and, with an effort Kug could barely assist, got him to his feet.
Kug's knees almost buckled. "Oh…" He let himself lean back against the wall. Hanging crockery dug into his back.
Prak had been gone for a while. Long enough that he'd already found one of the guard? Long enough to share his tale?
"This is bad."
Ressa's frustration bore an edge of fear. "Kug, will you tell me what's happened?"
He started to nod, but it hurt too much. "Yes. All right. But I need… I still need a few bits. Go on back out."
His mouth filled with saliva. He swallowed, generating a rush of queasiness. He closed his eyes; that didn't help. He settled on relaxing his focus and taking a deep, slow breath.
"Tell everyone… there's no lodging tonight. Tell them we have to close early. No more food or drink."
His mouth filled again. He literally couldn't stomach the thought of swallowing. He turned his head, sending bolts of pain up from the back of his neck, and spat on the floor.
"Kug!"
"It doesn't matter. Sorry."
"What's going on?"
"Go on. Tell them we have to close. Start getting everyone out. Anyone who's yet to pay goes home with all the tokens they brought in. Just… get them out."
Ressa stayed where she was.
"And what," she said, "of your current guests?"
Kug had to smile.
Ressa was the only magn who'd been with the Steadfast Capful longer than Kug. Ressa, who had been Latha’s friend and companion and, in Kug's long absence, only family for many years.
Ressa, who had a family of her own. Whose heartfast had broken his body after a life on the docks, leaving Ressa and her kits to earn for them all.
Ressa had seen Lama and Sot arrive yesterday morning.
Same as Prak.
She'd likely never seen them leave.
Same as Prak.
Ressa, who had so much to gain from speaking, yet kept her words in her chest.
This was her place as much as his, Kug thought.
A shame it was all about to burn.
"Our guests." Kug inclined his head, wincing past the pain, and attempted another nod. "I will attend to our guests."
Ressa regarded him. She frowned slightly.
He shrugged.
Her face softened. She sighed.
"I'll clear the floor."
~
Initially, Ressa had to handle the common room herself, and it was slow going. Once Kug reappeared, having just thrown up a second and third time and looking at least as ill as he felt, people were more inclined to comply. No one was so desperate for a drink they'd take it from someone sick as Kug clearly was, and, thanks to Ressa, word was Prak had already left feeling just as bad.
It would be bad for business for a while, but Kug reckoned it wouldn't matter once Prak told his tale.
At last, Ressa bid farewell to the last patron and bolted the front door. As if it was the end of any other night, she automatically crossed the floor to the central cooking pit, intent on extinguishing the fire.
Kug leaned against the bar and gingerly stroked the tender lump on the side of his head while he sipped from a tankard of water. "Leave it."
She looked at him, confused out of her routine, then shrugged. "All right." She joined him at the bar. "Let me see you."
He lowered his hand and tilted his head for her inspection.
She tsked. "Thank the Shaper for putting a small pan in Prak's paw. Anything heavier, the boy might have hit your temple instead of the thicker bone above, and that'd be another proprietor of the Steadfast Capful done in." She stepped back and took his chin in her hand, then tilted his head so Kug looked her in the eye. "I think you'll live. Don't go to sleep right away. Put some roundleaf in that water and warm it up."
"Little chance I'll sleep this night," Kug said. "Thank you."
She looked around the common room. "And now?"
Kug's shoulders dipped. "And now," he sighed, "you go home to Craed and your kits."
She scowled, eyes flashing, and shook her head. "That Lama..! She's—"
"Keep that thought behind your teeth," Kug interrupted. "You know nothing. You cannot."
"You've told me nothing! But I'm not an—"
"Ressa!" He flinched as his headache intensified to match his raised voice. "Aza and Nza," he swore, "do not!"
She squinted critically, then pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. Kug saw she would accept partial understanding.
"What will you do now?"
"I don't know." He pushed himself away from the bar and took a couple careful steps. Only hints of nausea and vertigo remained to trouble him. "Something. But you should go."
Ressa opened her mouth, seemed to reconsider, closed it. Frowning, she nodded, once, and turned for the door.
"Ressa," Kug called after her. "Use the back."
She sounded very tired. "Right." As she walked past him to go, she gave him a small, brave smile. "Balance and harmony, Kug."
"Balance and harmony for you, Ressa."
He waited until he heard the back door open and close before going to secure the bolt. The kitchen smelled of bile, which did nothing for his stomach. Kug held his breath, which did nothing good for his headache, until he was back in the common room.
He had no doubt his next task would make it worse.
What if he simply left?
Could he get out of the city? Could anyone, right now? There were ways… certain people he could find… but who would they speak to, in turn?
"Wagon's got a broken wheel," he muttered.
The idiom carried nostalgia for the caravan town so powerful, Kug choked on a sob.
There was no one in the empty common room to finish the couplet.
He doubted anyone in the Shadow District knew it at all, save Lama, who'd grown up hearing him say it.
Bend and mend or take to heel.
Kug climbed the stairs. He didn't bother to knock when he came to the room. They were all his rooms, after all.
Lama and Sot, seated on the edge of their sleeping pad, looked up when he came in. The infant, thankfully, seemed asleep.
Lama whispered, "What's going on down there?"
"Prak figured it out. He…" Kug thought he'd be too drained and resigned to feel even mild shame, but there it was. "He overcame me when I tried to stop him. Left me senseless."
Sot's eyebrows went up. "Prak did?"
Lama, as always, focused on practical matters. "How long ago?"
"At least a mark. More. I thought it best to clear the house; that took some time."
Sot stood. "We should try to find him, Kug."
"Oh, I know where he'll be," Kug said. "He'll be talking to the guard by now; out of our reach."
Lama glanced at the baby and then, sharply, at Kug and Sot. "Keep your voices down." To Kug, she added, "I don't think he'd go to the guard. Why trust them?"
"I told him as much when he made the threat." Realization jolted Kug. "Wait. No. I didn't get the chance to make that argument."
Sot sounded as though he was struggling to understand. "Before he… he really got the best of you?"
Kug pointed at the side of his own head. "The pan he hit me with helped. Yes, Sot."
Kug understood. "The Shaper's priests won't care about the money."
Lama nodded. "They'll question Prak to make sure he's not running some scam of his own. Once they're convinced—"
"They'll take it to the guard," Kug finished.
"At last, yes," Lama said, "but that would explain why we haven't already been taken. It'll be a while before everyone knows who needs to know."
The blow to his head must have fractured his memory if not his skull. Another mislaid piece fell back into place. "Aza and Nza..!"
"What?"
"Prak said there was someone else. That if I wrung his neck, I'd never find out who it was."
Lama scoffed. "He would have said anything."
"It worked," Kug lamented.
Sot said, "That's when he brained you?"
Kug ignored him and addressed Lama. "You have to leave. No matter who Prak tells or who else knows, you can't stay here."
Lama's response was immediate. "No. Ulthus expects us tomorrow, here. If he shows up and we're not…"
Sot rocked on his feet. "We have to make the trade. We have—!"
Lama cut the air with a swipe of her hand. "Calm down, Sot, and Shaper's Hand, keep less air in your chest!" To Kug, she said, "If Ulthus shows up and we're not here, we have no way to find him. If he's what you think he is, what will happen if we break the deal?"
Kug said, "He is what I say he is. And his master is worse."
"And," Lama jabbed a finger at the baby, "we have this. And we have sacrificed… too much… to simply give up." She looked away from Kug, away from everything. "I will not give this up. Not now."
Kug almost thought she was talking about Ranith. Of course he was wrong.
Softly, Lama said, "I'm going to live. I will have my life." She pushed the words past clenched teeth. "I will have my life."
"You will have nothing," Kug said, "if the guard gets here first."
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