I gritted my teeth. “Has it ever occurred to you that this city needs a new banking system with more reasonable penalties?”
Shorty nodded at me. “Nah, she’s not a courtesan. Lila’s a dock thief isn’t she? Steals from the ships. Little magpie. Works for Ernald.”
I didn’t want to drag my boss into this. “Don’t worry about Ernald. I’ll get you your money in no time.”
I had no idea how. I just needed time to think of something.
The tall one shook his head and pulled out another, longer knife. “Sure, but we’ll need a few bits of your face to get the message across to everyone. Your mum. Ernald. Otherwise, every beggar in Dovren will mess Diamond Danny around, won’t they? Think they can borrow money without paying it back. He don’t like people making him into a mug. So we’ve gotta send a message, take a few pieces of you with us. A few flesh tokens.”
Now, all my muscles had gone totally rigid, and fear twisted my stomach. “Please stop saying ‘flesh tokens.’ It is a deeply unpleasant phrase.” I swung the torch in an arc. They leaned back a little. “Deeply unpleasant.”
“Easy there, little doll,” the tall one said in a soothing tone. His knife flashed in the torchlight.
“Finn?” I shouted again, panic ringing in my voice. “Anyone?”
The music from inside was drowning me out.
The tall Rough Boy started moving away from the other, and my blood roared in my ears. I couldn’t keep them both at bay with the torch forever. It would only take one of them to grab me from behind.
Think fast.
I pulled the cheap whiskey from my pocket, took a searing sip, then blew on the torch. With the alcohol on my breath, a burst of flame exploded in their direction.
I didn’t stick around to watch him go up in flames, but I did hear his screams. I pivoted, then kicked the door as hard as I could. I’d hoped to break it open, but instead my foot went through the old wood. Splinters rained around it, but it remained shut. Locked.
The smaller Rough Boy slung his arm around my throat from behind, squeezing. I dropped the torch on the pavement. I elbowed him twice in the ribs, as hard as I could. When he released his grip, I brought my elbow up hard into his jaw. Then I shoved my hand through the broken door, unlatching the dead bolt from inside.
I bolted up the stairs and into a music hall crowded with dancers, and the raucous sound of horns and a bass drum. No one had even noticed the scene outside. I elbowed and shoved my way through the crowd as hard as I could.
In here, the ceiling towered high above us. The lurid colors once painted on the inside of the place had faded, sedate now. Velvet curtains draped from a towering stage. High above me, candles hung in chandeliers. Two stories of balconies swept around overhead, private rooms where only East Dovren’s fanciest denizens were allowed entry.
And all around me, people danced in their best clothes, faces beaming with happiness. The Bibliotek band was playing on the stage, a trumpeter blaring a solo.
I turned back to the entry, hoping that they’d given up.
But, no. My stomach sank. Three of them had barged in, eyes trained on me.
I needed to find my friend Zahra—fast.
3
Count Saklas
I turned the corner onto a dark, crowded lane where music and shouts rose from the pubs. My sword—Asmodai—hung at my waist. Forged from stars, it was one of the few things that brought me pleasure.
For a moment, I peered in the window of a pub called the Green Garland. Men and women crowded around tables, drinking, singing. Steam clouded the window.
After a thousand years on earth, I’d still never learned to enjoy the things mankind did.
Compared to an angel’s senses, mortals’ were dull. They perceived only a fraction of the light, heard only the loudest of noises. Their lives were so short, a few beats of a moth’s wings. And for some reason, they liked to spend their short time dulling their unremarkable senses even further. It seemed they reveled in madness, in stupidity.
I thought the knowledge angels had bestowed upon them was wasted.
Though they were drunk, my presence seemed to unnerve them anyway. They shifted away from the windows, and they drank even deeper from their pints. Maybe it made sense. Maybe that was how they coped with mortality—trying to forget it