knife in the dark. What’s the problem, can’t handle a bit of class?” Crymson nodded pointedly toward the now pictureless portrait.
“I’d put the noose around my own neck before I let it be thought that I have class,” Slate said, “but I should probably steer clear of Queen’s for a while anyway, so Brewmaster’s it is. Six o’clock.”
Nobody disagreed.
Slate continued, “Just so you know, working together doesn’t mean we’re a team; it’s cooperation by necessity, so don’t try and get cozy.”
“Who’d want to get close to you?” Crymson asked.
“I know a woman down the way who might can stand it. Come on, Teach.” Slate grabbed the big man’s wrist and pulled him out the door.
“Where is Brewmaster’s?” Isaac directed his question at Alocar.
The fire popped, and a smoldering log rolled within inches of the flooring.
Alocar looked up, seemingly so lost in thought that the words had just registered. “What? Oh. Errrm. Five streets north of here, take a right, and it’s the third door on your left.”
“Thank you.” He stood there a few seconds, but Alocar didn’t reply. Head bowed, Isaac turned and left the room.
Crymson watched Alocar smooth back his eyebrows, contemplate his hands. Does he even notice I’m here? Out of all them, he seemed to have the most trouble coping with the suddenness of the situation, and as such, he’d need the most work if Crymson intended to have her reward.
Minutes passed. “We don’t have much choice in the matter,” she said.
Alocar stood and kicked the chair into the fire, its flames leaping onto its upholstered surface and crawling across the floor, eating the other chairs alive in its search for prey. “We always have a choice.”
He walked out the door. Crymson stayed, watching the flames climb higher and higher, the brightness reminding her of nothing more than the lights at Beatty’s her first night, like the sun had fallen to earth, scouring away an urchin’s encroaching darkness as if it’d never existed. She left.
Miles behind, the Giles residence collapsed in flames.
Angras
Let me out.
“You think they can do it?”
Who? The old man and the convict? The priestess and the mercenary? You should have let me choose.
“I think not.” I removed the mask, infusing my crippled soul with strength. “I chose them for a reason.”
Or you chose them because they’re all failures at life, and so when they fail, you can lay the blame on them, preordained to take the fall.
“You’re wrong.” A man in a brown coat squinted at me. Hurried by. “They all know loss, so they’re all strong.”
You rationalize. They’re weak, just like you would be if it weren’t for me.
“You need me more than I need you.”
Will you follow through with your threats when they fail?
I pondered my answer. Alocar’s granddaughter. So small, so scared. Her father enraged. Her mother sad. I’d tried to explain, but they couldn’t see past their predicament. Why couldn’t they understand that this was the only way? Why couldn’t they understand that I’m forced to do these things? If I didn’t, then who would? Blame the world, not me.
Finally, I said, “They won’t fail.”
In the end, you’ll hurt all of them.
“I will not. They’re collateral, that’s all. I would never kill another man’s family.”
You’ll follow through with your threats. You must, or nobody will take you seriously.
“I don’t have to do anything.”
You’re fooling only yourself.
“I said shuttup!” A mother and her daughter turned. The child’s eyes wide, her mouth open. What was wrong with her? Was it me? I touched my face, but felt only smooth skin. It must be her.
Let me out.
Isaac
Five o’clock found Isaac against the back wall of Brewmaster’s, surrounded by Dradenhurst’s most proficient artisans and its mildly successful merchants. He’d slept in a narrow, refuse-encrusted nook last night, complete with a wild-haired man spitting curses at him from a nearby alley. After washing his face with water cupped from a brackish puddle, Isaac had wandered the city’s well-to-do sections, trying to be a real person in a real society instead of a creature chained beneath the earth. Linken had given him money enough for food, and so Isaac had arrived early to the group’s meeting place, using the bar to aid his reacclimation process.
A few coins to the keep’s hands allowed him to keep his table open. It was quitting time for many, and the room was soon filled. Walls sealed from chill drafts, a cleanly swept floor, drinks without films on their surfaces; how could it get better? He nursed a single beer, occasional