7th of Braxos

"Six hundred and thirty-seven," I mouthed, writing the number neatly at the top of the paper. I put the pen down. Then I covered my face with my hands, muffling a low groan of anger behind my palms.

The price of passage to Nimkoruguithu had gone up again. Even with both of us working as many shifts as we could, we were only able to put two, maybe three lyr in the tin a week. We had two hundred and some change. We now needed six hundred and thirty-seven. Where were we going to get four hundred lyr?

It would take us a year to save that up, at this rate, even longer if the prices kept rising so much faster than we could earn.

Pain slid through my chest. I couldn't live like this for a year, stuck in this half-life. It would be better to end it quickly. Tear it off like a tackyplaster and get it over with. It would hurt, but in the long run it would keep things from festering. Things like this space Arramy was slowly, and apparently unknowingly, carving for himself in my heart. The deeper he got, the worse it would be when we finally reached Aethscaul, and his self-imposed debt to my father was fulfilled.

Then he would leave. Go off and buy a cottage by the sea. Get a dog. Find a woman he could love with all of that quiet, steady, beautiful soul of his.

I pressed my fingers into my eyes and ground my teeth for a moment, then pushed myself to my feet and began getting ready for the day.

~~~

The break whistle piped over the roar of the boiler.

I put down my knife and swiped the back of my hand over my forehead, turning to follow Nalle and Eman into the delivery bay.

The two of them had their heads together, discussing something, Nalle listening as Eman said, "I need the money, I do, and I really don't want to leave you shorthanded, but Barros is just so sick I don't want to leave him alone that long. I'm sorry."

Nalle nodded and finished rolling her cheroot. "It's not a problem, Ems, really. Take care of that baby. I'll drop by after and give you a break, right?"

Eman nodded, her eyes bleak as she left to get one of the cheese sandwiches the cannery served.

"Oi, Lara," Nalle called, smiling and beckoning me over when I glanced at her. "Feel like earning some quick pin money?"

"I could do with some," I said, coming to stand next to her.

"Good. I thought as much, with you taking all those shifts on your days off..." She looked me up and down as if weighing her options. "I don't usually offer this to the new folk, but Rivany has got sticky fingers and she likes to place bets with my half of the take."

I nodded slowly, although I wasn't interested in Rivany at all. "So what is this offer?"

Nalle took a drag on her cheroot and puffed out a little ring of smoke, still considering me for a moment before she answered. "You have to understand that this venture isn't exactly smiled upon by the Magistrate's Bureau... Discretion is required. If you sing about it, I'll know... and so will the Bosses. The Bosses don't much appreciate having their business interfered with, if you catch my drift."

She had no idea how much of that drift I caught. "I'm not in the habit of talking to the Magis," I said dryly. "I don't particularly care whether they smile, either. What have you got?"

Nalle chuckled, grinning around her smoke. "I knew I liked you... Fine then. You ever heard of the Bathhouse?"

I squinted at her.

"A hundred years ago, there was a public bathhouse at the end of Kleish Street. It was abandoned during the war. Not enough people left to bathe. After the war, the dock bosses all got together and bought the building. Turned the upper floors into a drinking house... and the basement into a fighting ring."

I absorbed that without batting an eyelash. Underground fighting was indeed illegal, but common enough. Phyrros wasn't as big as Vreis, but that didn't mean it didn't have the same shadier forms of entertainment.

"Fights are big business around these parts," Nalle went on. "People come from all over to win a big purse or land a big bet... plenty of fools with money in their pockets and beer in their brains. Me and the girls just stand by the door and sell trinkets to the masses as they pour in. Pins. Cuff ribbons. Little flags and poppers. Candy. You'd be surprised what grown men will buy when they want to show their allegiance to something... I supply the trinkets. You keep a share of your haul at the end of the night. If you do well, you can pocket seventy lyr on a good night."

The shift klaxon sounded, then, and the rest of the crew started for the door.

"Just pretty yourself up and be at the Taproom by the eighth bell. I'll save a tray for you," Nalle said, flicking what was left of her cheroot into the gutter and grinding it out beneath her boot.

Lips pursed, I followed her in. Seventy lyr. That would make a sizeable dent in our deficits.

~~~

"You're going to do what?"

I pinched my cheeks and gave my upswept hair a last press of my hands before I turned to look up at him. "There's a fight tonight and I'm going to sell pins for Nalle."

Arramy was glowering down at me, brows drawn into a fierce line. "No, you're not."

I heaved a breath of frustration. "I knew you were going to be difficult. Nalle says I could bring in seventy lyr on a good night. I did the books this morning. Unless you have some way to make four hundred lyr, you need to let me do this or we are never getting out of here."

He was grinding his teeth, the muscles of his jaw ticking. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"Probably not," I said quietly. "But I'll be careful. I promise." Then I looked down, unable to hold that chilly gaze any longer. "I have survived far worse than a prize fight, Captain, and you're working yourself ragged. Let me help. Please."

He didn't move out of my way, and the silence of the sitting room grew heavy with that invisible tension that seemed to dog every conversation we had had in the last few days. Then, finally, "I'll come with you."

I started to shake my head, but he caught my chin on his forefinger and thumb, then nudged my head back till I had to look at him again.

"Brenorra..." His voice was low, and now there was a stern tilt to his eyebrows.

At least he hadn't called me 'kid.' I tried to glare up at him, but he was looking down at me with eyes that glimmered pewter beneath his lashes, and I just wanted to keep from drowning. He wouldn't have listened to my objections anyway. He was a grown man. If he wanted to follow me around instead of getting a few hours of sleep, that was on him. "Fine," I whispered, pulling away. "If you must. But I have to leave now, so you'll have to be ready in the next —"

He reached out and took his jacket off the hook beside me and started shrugging into it. Then he opened the door and held it for me.

~~~

The Taproom was empty when we arrived, save for a crotchety old man pushing a broom between the tables in the eating area.

Nalle met me at the bar but didn't give Arramy more than half a glance before grabbing my arm and whisking me past the stage and around to a doorway hidden behind a thick velvet drapery. "Barraban is a bit testy," she said, hurrying me along to a low, arched door at the end of the backstage hallway. "Griz never came in this morning. Best get our gear and keep out of the way."

A set of spiral stairs led down into the basement. Or, more specifically, it led down into a little room full of cleaning supplies at the back end of the basement. Nalle buzzed on through another doorway and out into what had obviously once been the public bathing chamber. The large main pool had been drained entirely, and a rusty wroughtiron fence stood along the edge, the bars angled up and in, large spikes at every point.

Nalle marched all the way around the pool and through one side of a set of massive double doors that joined the arena with a room that must have been a southern steam room at one point. The old cubicles were still there, and the fanciful murals of undersea life still sketched the walls in peeling shades of blue and green, but instead of sweat benches there were tables and chairs set up for eating and drinking, and a fully-stocked bar occupied one corner. A short flight of steps led from the steam room up to a broad, brightly lit narthex, with two more big double doors to either side.

"We'll be out here in the entryway," Nalle called over her shoulder, and I stopped looking at what the dock bosses had done with the place, moving to take the box-tray she pushed at me. "Just stay by the door here. If you do well enough, you can go down and start circulating among the guests, but Barraban doesn't like us getting underfoot. You have to wait until he's imbibed a bit. He mellows out and starts enjoying himself as the night gets going. Until then, just keep a smile on and ignore everything he says."

I nodded and looped the straps over my shoulders. Nalle tied the money bag to my belt, then pinned it to my skirt to make it harder to light-finger. Then she took the other tray box and gave me a quick grin as she darted across the marble floor to the other entrance.

For all of ten seconds, we waited.

The place smelled of sawdust, stale beer, and old sweat. I scratched at a hairpin that was poking my scalp. Then I glanced around, realizing Arramy hadn't come down with us.

Two rather large men came down the stairs from the Taproom, then, taking up positions on either door to the entryway.

People began trickling in from somewhere deeper in the guts of the building. Fighters, mostly, their hands wrapped with linen tape. A few of the meaner looking ones had fancy costumes on. One was wearing tight red pants painted to look like flames, the rest of his oiled muscles on full display. Another had on a long black leather coat with a mantle that looked like bat wings, and a helmet that looked like a wolf skull. Yet another was wearing nothing but a pair of shiny leather short pants, apparently showing off the tribal tattoos swirling over most of his skin. The fancy ones were the heavy hitters, the ones everyone came to see, and they were treated like some sort of royalty. The rest were dressed like the day laborers and dock workers they were, lining up for a chance at the night's small cash prizes.

A moment later the dancing girls arrived, strutting around in the eating area, their legs clad in brightly striped, black silk hose, their satin dresses barely more than a corset with a dust ruffle. The bartender came with them and started filling pint glasses from a row of kegs behind the bar as the girls set up the chairs and tables.

Still Arramy wasn't there.

Then the doors opened upstairs, and a line of people began pouring in, laughing, discussing the fighters, making small wagers before they even reached the house booking stand, and I had my first customer. He snatched a blue and red pin from my tray board, gave me a wink, dropped the required five-arrum piece in my money cup, and kept right on going, followed by two more who each wanted one of the little bags of fried corn.

I glanced at Nalle, who was just as busy at her door. She smiled and went back to selling a bunch of black and white flags to a group of men fresh in from their shift on the docks. They were all happy, laughing, sure the fight was supposed to be a good one that night. Good odds, good winnings, a bigger than usual purse because of the Fruit Festival.

Finally, Arramy was there, descending the stairs on Nalle's side, coming through the doorway looking harried and cross. He saw me and tried to dodge around Nalle, but the enormous lug who was waiting to check tickets reached out a thick hand and planted it on Arramy's chest, bringing him to a halt.

For a split second, I almost thought Arramy might go full on battle mode. He went perfectly still, eye to eye with the door guard, and I swore he was about to snap the man's arm. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a slip of green paper, holding it up.

A boy barely old enough to have down on his lip stepped up to me, cutting off my line of sight, and I smiled and took his money and let him pick a bag of chocolate taffies. Then I glanced quickly back at Arramy. He had had to buy a ticket to get in. It was only fair, really, even though he hadn't come for the fight, but I was supposed to be earning money, not making us spend it. I chewed my lower lip, mentally deducting the price of the ticket from whatever my cut of the takings would be, the loss sitting at the back of my mind like a burr.

Arramy came to stand against the wall a few steps away, hands clasped behind him, eyes roaming the loud, boisterous crush of humanity that was clustering around the arena and swarming the bookie booth. He was not enjoying this. Not at all. Tension radiated from him, glittering in his eyes, etched in the firm line of his mouth and the rigid set of his shoulders.

The first warmup skirmishes began, and things only got hotter and louder with every round.

My tray box ran out of chocolates. Then I was out of black and white flags. It seemed Bat-wing Skull-head was the favorite contender that night. Then came Firepants, and the Ink Man. One of the flags kept coming back, traded in for something else — the mysteriously missing Griz must have used yellow and black as his color scheme.

Something about that bothered me. Not the colors, but the fact that a man was missing, and no one even batted an eyelash. They just handed their flag back and took a lump of softmelt anise sugar or a black cuff ribbon. The unconcern of the uninvolved wasn't surprising, but one of the dancers walked by with her friend, complaining that her favorite fighters were always the ones that went missing, and apprehension walked its icy fingers up my spine.

Fighters going missing after a big win that attracted the wrong sort of attention... That was one of the Coventry's hunting criteria. Women under thirty, teenage boys, and strong fighting men between twenty and forty. Was it unconcern I was seeing, or was it the way things were?

I took money from a woman wearing too much rouge, mechanically handing her the red collar pin she was asking for, my eyes finding the wealthier patrons on their shadowy balcony overlooking the arena. There were several people up there, their figures difficult to make out beyond the fierce light of the mirrored lamps set up above the fighting pit. I was wracking my brain, dredging up all those details I had memorized before Lord Reixham's party, when a swell of shouting broke out in the arena. Someone had lost badly, apparently.

I licked my lips. I needed to get closer. If I could get down to the eating area, maybe the angle would be better, and the lights wouldn't shield the balcony. Nalle was still at her door, but she had said we could mingle after a little while. I would just have to hope this Barraban was in a better mood.

Arramy was looking at me when I shot a meaningful look in his direction and started for the steps. He scowled and shook his head, motioning that I should stay put, but I didn't stop. Trying not to be too obvious, I wound between the table, keeping the balcony in my peripheral while aiming for a spot where the glare wasn't so bright.

What happened next will be seared into me for the rest of my life.

I was so focused on getting a glimpse of those patrons on the balcony that I didn't realize Arramy was following me until someone – some dock worker who worked at Padashiris – let out a yell and started elbowing his friends and pointing at something that wasn't in the arena. Something that was behind me. And then they were pushing their way out of the crowd, stumbling and lurching into the eating area, hands outstretched, eager smiles on their faces.

I whirled, but they weren't coming for me. They were after Arramy.

He realized what they were doing and shook his head, backing away, his mouth moving, but his objections were drowned out by chants of "An-der-field! An-der-field!" as he was caught and surrounded by a bunch of drunk dockmen, all of them grabbing at him, pulling at him, shoving him toward the arena.

Panic welled up in my middle as Arramy craned to look back at me, eyes wide, that trapped wolf staring out at me.

I slapped at the nearest set of shoulders, yelling, "Stop it! What are you doing?" but I might as well have been screaming at a stone. There was no stopping them. None of my screaming and kicking did anything but earn me a clumsy push and a slurred, "No time for that, woman, leave us be! We got fresh meat!"

Fresh meat.

I clamped my hands over my mouth, unable to do anything but watch as the mob dragged a struggling, resisting Arramy to the entry chute. He lost his jacket somewhere, and careless hands tore his shirt to shreds as he was manhandled down the ramp and into the arena. Then a raucous cheer went up when the door slammed shut behind him, and a bolt slid home. He was locked in.