8th of Braxos

The petals of the rose had opened a little further. They were barely visible, just a suggestion of gold in the early morning gloom of the loft, but I could pick out the faint fragrance of honeyed apple hanging in the air.

It was a scent that brought back memories of sun-drenched garden walks and peaceful afternoons. Memories of another lifetime. A different me, in direct contrast to the me with the calloused hands and the salt-roughened skin. The me who currently felt like I had rubbed hot sand into my eyes and put my body through the laundry wringer. Sleep had not come easy, and when it had finally arrived, I had spent my dreams running from things I couldn't see.

Those dreams weren't actually worse than lying there, staring up at the ceiling, tormenting myself with that kiss. The way Arramy's arms had tightened around me as he pulled me close. That low, raspy, masculine sound he had made when I kissed him back —

There was a thump in the sitting room: Arramy's folded blanket hitting the top of his pillow.

I blinked, my heart doing a funny little rearrangement in my ribs.

He was awake, moving around in the dark. Getting ready for work. There was the chink of tokens in the meter, the thunk of the pan on the stove. The sizzle of frying eggs. Normal. Just like yesterday, and the day before. Like nothing was any different.

After a moment, I pushed myself up and sat cross-legged, staring balefully out into the top half of the sitting room. Then I shoved myself all the way to my feet and began pulling my clothes on. There was nothing for it. I was going to have to face him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. I would just have to go down there and pretend everything was normal, too. I could do that. I could pretend I hadn't pretended to kiss the man I was pretending was my husband.

So easy.

The irony almost made me grin and sniffle miserably at the same time as I finished lacing up the front of my work blouse, then steeled myself, turned, and made myself march downstairs, all quick and efficient.

Arramy glanced up at me, then down at the pan of eggs he was stirring. Silent.

I sat in my chair. Prim. Proper. Determined to ignore the lack of greeting even though that was not normal. I looked down and realized I had forgotten to tie my hair up. My hair scarf was still peeking out of the pocket of my skirt. That wasn't normal either. Stifling a sigh of impatience, I scooted my chair back and undid my night braid, shaking my hair free. Then I clamped my scarf between my teeth and began pulling my wild mane into a braid I could wrap up into a knot at the back of my head. It was something I had done countless times, but not usually in front of anyone.

I finished tying the scarf around my head to trap my hair, and turned to find Arramy facing the stove, unmoving for a split-second, the scrape-spoon stationary in his hand. The muscles in his jaw flexed. Then he shook his head slightly, reached up and took our miss-matched plates off the shelf. He scooped eggs onto both plates, put one plate in front of me, the other in front of him, and sat down on his side of the table, his eyes never meeting mine.

He wasn't angry, though. He was... sad. No, that wasn't quite right either. I studied him, trying to read him. In the muted light of the lamp over the table, he was somehow older than he had been yesterday. Bruises were rising on his jaw, but that only gave him a scruffy, scrappy edge. This was different. There was a subtle stillness about him, a quietness in every rugged line of his face, a calm, measured reserve in the way he moved.

The day before, he had pulled a stray bit of pillow down from my head scarf and told me I should at least try to keep my moltings to myself – for which I snatched the last piece of his toast and ran out the back door with it, giggling while he chased me around the yard. That had ended with him carrying me back into the house over his shoulder, demanding more toast.

Whatever this was, I had broken something that I hadn't even realized was there, and the loss settled into my chest, hot and spiny. I ate my breakfast, but only because I knew that if I didn't, I'd regret it later when my stomach was gnawing at my ribs. Then I put my boots on, and my apron, and he put on his jacket, and we left.

Arramy saw me to work in silence, leaving me at the door to the clock-in with barely a nod before turning and striding off toward the docks with his head down and his hands deep in his pockets.

I wanted to run after him. To tell him I was sorry. To take it all back and beg him to smile at me. But I didn't. I dragged myself around and trudged into the cannery.

~~~

Arramy wasn't the only one I had ruined things with the night before.

Nalle saw me coming and narrowed her eyes, the ember of her cheroot glowing bright as she took a long drag. Her lips curled into an unimpressed little sneer and she raised one eyebrow.

I drew the box-tray money bag out of my apron pocket and held it out. "Here. This should be close to what I owe you."

The sneer didn't shift as she tugged the drawstrings apart and took a moment to poke through the coins in the bag. "Well... my fault for bringing in the new girl," she muttered, then gave in a fraction when she realized I had paid for everything. She glanced at me, then reached into the bag and pulled out sixty lyr. "Here. Your cut."

I nodded my thanks and took the money. Then I hesitated and looked at Nalle. "Can I ask you something?"

She flicked the ash off her cheroot and blew out a stream of smoke. "Sure. What?"

"Have there been many people going missing? I mean... is it normal for fighters to just disappear?"

Nalle's dark eyes flew to my face. "Who told you about that?"

"No one," I said slowly. "But... It is happening, then? Men are going missing."

"Not that you'd hear anyone talk about it, more of a local joke, really," Nalle said, her brows lowering. She tilted her head, beckoning me closer, her gaze darting around the delivery bay at the rest of the Shuckers and Canners. "It's not just men. There are girls missing too. Children. Too many to be a coincidence. I can think of five or six girls I grew up with, gone. But the Magis won't do anything, so we've just sort of... stopped reporting it... Mr. Ebron owned the local daily. His wife was one that went missing a few years ago. He went crazy, looking for her. Then, a while back, he started writing these pieces that got him in a lot of trouble. He was stripped of his publishing license, something about 'fear mongering' and 'irresponsibility to the public.' Did some time in the gaol. He's kept records, though. Not that any good is going to come of it... Not going to bring any of them back," she muttered, flicking her cheroot into the gutter. "Listen. If I were you, I'd stay well clear. No good comes from sniffing around."

I dipped my head in a nod, but as the shift bell rang, and Nalle straightened away from the wall, I put a hand on her arm, bringing her up short. "Where can I find Mr. Ebron?"

Her eyes flashed in annoyance, then she heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Regular little crow, you are... Fine. He spends most of his days down at the Gooseleg, getting sauced out of his brain. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I waited a beat before following her in, glancing over my shoulder at the buildings looming around the cannery, a shiver of awareness prickling the hair at my nape.

The doorway of the woolen warehouse across the street stood open to let in the air.

Until that moment, I thought Moavany hadn't come to hang around the cannery that day. Rivany had been quite loud about insisting she was through with him, and he wasn't sculking on his usual corner. But that apparently didn't mean he was gone. Far from it. He was sitting on a barrel beneath the awning over the warehouse door.

He looked awful. Arramy hadn't been messing around. Snakeneck's nose had been set with a wooden splint and white plaster, and his jaw was badly swollen and misshapen, much of it an ugly purple-blue. There was no mistaking him, though, even hunched over like he was, his arms hugging his ribs. He was staring at me, and when he saw me pick him out of the shadows, he tilted his head.

Of all the... I about-faced and hurried after Nalle, angry heat climbing up my neck.

~~~

The shift whistle sounded, and I stowed my knife and stripped off my gloves.

"Tell your man 'Good fight' for me!" Jarro called as I made my way past the boiler. "Easiest twenty posies I've ever made. When can we get him back in the ring?"

"Never!" I sang, adding a muttered, "If he listens to a word I say" as I signed the logbook and walked out into the delivery bay.

I frowned and came to a halt. Glanced around.

The workers straggled by, some of them heading off to the Taproom, some going home to family and dinner. Nalle and Eman left, heads together, talking about Eman's little boy. Rivany traipsed past, giving me a long look up and down and a toss of her head.

I rolled my eyes at that, but then deflated. There wasn't a tall Northlander leaning against the delivery bay wall, waiting for me.

For a moment, I lingered, but all it took was a cautious glance at the woolen warehouse, and my decision was made. Snakeneck was still there, and from the way he was eyeing the street, I could tell he had noticed the fact that Arramy wasn't there. If I waited much longer, there wouldn't be many people out and about.

So I ground my teeth, and started walking.

Instead of heading back my usual way, though, I turned left at the first corner and started up the hill toward the Taproom.

About halfway up that street, there was a narrow alley that led off at an angle, running along behind two of the storefronts before meeting the street that formed the next intersection.

I passed the first mouth of the alley and turned left at the street corner, then scuttled quickly down to the second alley entrance, ducking into the shadows behind a rubbish bin as I watched the other end of the alley.

Sure enough, a moment later, Snakeneck came prowling past on the street.

Moving swiftly, I darted down the alley, making sure he had turned the corner at the street before I hurried across to the other side and ran back down the way I had come, turning left on the street to the cannery.

The Gooseleg pub wasn't far. I passed it every day, just two blocks down, in the lower floor of a tenement at the end of Southend Street.

There was no service bell when I pushed through the swinging doors and stepped into the entryway. It wasn't that sort of place. It was dark, and cavelike, with water stains running through the plaster behind the bar, and scum on the windows.

A red-faced middle-aged woman took one look at me and put a hand on her wide hip. "Ey. Either you're lost, or you've lost one. Which is it?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Ebron?" I said, my voice trailing up into a question. I cleared my throat. "If he's here, that is."

The matron sucked her teeth, then nodded toward the far end of the bar. "Ey! Ebron! Wake up, you got company!" she shouted in that direction, then gave me a beady-eyed squint. "If you can get him to pay his tab, he owes me six arrums."

I opened my mouth, then couldn't think of anything to say and closed it, skirting around her instead.

A lone figure in a long black coat slouched on the last stool by the wall, his arms crossed on the bar, his head resting in the crook of his elbow. When I sat down next to him, he brought his head up, revealing a pleasant face that had been bested by too much drinking. His nose was swollen and red-veined, his skin crinkly and yellow. He gave me a grin and squinted at me. "Can't say I've had any callers of late... none so lovely, any way. That one's always after my money." He rolled a glare at the matron before turning back to squint at me again. "So. What brings you to speculate on old Ebron? Or has my charm preceded me?"

He was teasing, and I grinned a little. "Perhaps. I ah... I was hoping I could ask you about your... record keeping." I didn't know what else to call it.

He seemed to get my meaning. His eyes widened and he glanced at the matron. She was slopping a wet rag around one of the tables, sweeping crumbs onto the floor.

The only other customers were two older women smoking cheroots and gossiping in a corner booth.

"You're not from around here... Who told you about my record keeping?" Ebron asked, giving me a sidelong study.

I licked my lips. I didn't want to get Nalle in trouble. "A friend. She said you know about the missing people. Can you tell me about them?"

He leaned a little closer. "There's not much to tell. People go missing. Different places, different times." Then he focused on my face, snorted lightly, and looked at his hands on the bar. "Came to look at the old loon, then. You'll start laughing, next. Go on. Might as well get it over with."

"I'm not laughing," I said quietly. "I know about the missing people too... Where I come from, it's the same. Can you tell me anything else? How old they were? Where they were last seen?"

"Oh, all sorts of ages and types, on their way home, on their way to work, out for a stroll..." He shrugged. "The only thing any of them had in common was that no bodies were ever found. They just... vanished. Like they were plucked off the face of the earth. Forty six men and women, so far. Five boys, although Marto Willrain's body was eventually recovered down in the bay." He looked at me. "It's the same where you're from?"

I nodded. "Do you have any thoughts on where they went? Where they might have been taken?"

He frowned, then a slow, mirthless smile split his face. "Now, see... That is what got me into trouble. Chasing that question. I'd be careful, asking that question round here. Why don't you just go on home, girl? Stop digging for things you don't want to know the answers to —"

Reaching out, I slid a lyr under his fingers on the bar. "I'll give you another if you tell me what you found out."

He stared down at his hand. Licked his lips. Glanced at the matron. Then the need got to him, although the weakness clearly disgusted him as he curled his fingers around the coin. He looked at me head-on, his gaze a little bleary, but steady. "This is dangerous stuff. Right? If I tell you, you cannot talk about it. This isn't something to go prattling to your friends. They'll think you're crazy, for one. For another, you may wind up getting you or someone else hurt. You understand?"

I dipped my head in a nod.

He stared me down for a moment longer, then sighed and edged closer. "I think... No. I'm sure there's things going on at the docks. Things being brought in that shouldn't be, and I'm not talking a little bit. There's always been small stuff. A cargo bin of bootleg here and there. Illegal imports from Panesia. But now there are whole ships full of things that aren't what they say, and all the dock bosses are in on it."

"All of them?" I asked, tensing. "Even Padashiri?"

Ebron tipped his chin in a pensive half-shrug, considering. "Padashiri has small boats, so that makes him small fry... But yes, even Padashiri. There's no way he's not. They're all thick as wasps on a cider bottle up there... You want to know the really scary thing about all this? A... ah... similarly concerned individual I know from the old days, who shall remain nameless, says the Caraki military is organizing. They've started calling up their standing army. Running drills at night. And they're manufacturing something that's being brought over the border to be shipped through Phyrros." He paused and tapped the bar, his voice low and intense. "All these disappearing people? Several of them in the last few months were in a position to have seen something. Karron Rothsteig worked as a night guard in the Harbormaster's Bureau. Hammot Grisbane was one of Barraban's best fighters, but he also did the dirty work for some of Barraban's shadier business dealings." Ebron took a breath, then, and let it out on a bitter chuckle as he sat back. "That's as far as I can get. Knowing. Can't do anything about it, cause I'm just a crazy old drunk." He turned and held out an arm, waving to the matron while bellowing, "The whole world's about to come crashing down around our ears, and nobody cares! Another ale, woman!"

She threw her rag into a wash bucket and aimed a knobby finger at him. "You pipe down! I have had about enough of your drunk conspiracy blather, Rogu Ebron. I'm not giving you a drop more till I see money!"

He held up the lyr with a wide, cheeky grin, giving me a wink when the matron huffed in exasperation and stomped back behind the bar.

I pressed my lips together in a wan smile, slipped Ebron his second lyr, and got down off the bar stool. Then I left, although not before checking to make sure Snakeneck wasn't loitering around outside. If he was, he was doing a decent job hiding. I didn't see any sign of him at all, but I ran all the way home anyway.

And found the apartment empty.

There was something about that moment, standing there on the front stoop, some subtle hint of change in the cold brass of the front door pull as it resisted my touch, some strange charge in the air as I fumbled my key out of my skirt pocket. Somehow, I knew there was something wrong.

Arramy wasn't home. He hadn't been home, either. There was no paper-wrapped packet of fried vegetables and beef on the counter, no skewers of spicy chicken steaming on the table, not even a few eggs frying on the stove. There was only me, and the shuffle of my own feet on the floor as I came in and took off my apron. Then my boots.

Apprehension began needling at me, plucking at the cords of my heartstrings, rising in my chest like a balloon about to pop. He had been late to pick me up a few times before, but not like this.

See... now you've broken things. You pushed him away.

My stomach knotted up on itself as I set about making dinner, frying eggs and what was left of the rasher of beef.

I made enough for two, then ate my serving while staring at the timekeep.

An hour later, still no Arramy, and his dinner was cold.

By sundown, I was pacing around the sitting room, gnawing on my thumbnail, waiting for footsteps on the stoop or the scratch of a key in the lock. When the timekeep flicked over the hour, I couldn't stand the silence anymore. I ground my teeth, strode over to the doormat, and began yanking my boots back on.

It was a lovely evening, really. The sky was clear. The breeze was balmy. It would be good to take a walk.

Maybe he had just gone to a pub and gotten sidetracked. Or maybe he had a chance to take another shift and forgot to tell me. Or maybe he had gotten himself arrested.

I grabbed my key and walked out the door.

~~~

He wasn't in any of the pubs within walking distance. He wasn't working an extra shift at Padashiri's, although some of the men seemed to think he had gone somewhere with the boss. That was all they could offer. As a last-ditch effort, I tried at the Taproom. He wasn't in the dining area upstairs. The man behind the bar only looked at me funny when I asked if there was a fight going on. He hadn't seen Arramy, he hadn't seen Padashiri, and no, there was no fight going on, and if I wasn't going to buy a pint, he had other things to do.

No fight. No Arramy. No one had seen him. No one had any idea where else he might have gone with Padashiri.

With each dead end, that apprehension grew from a niggling worry to a freezing, leaden ball of panic lodged between my ribs, threatening to strangle me.

I leaned on the wall outside the Taproom doorway, trying to make my lungs breathe straight. Then, like a beacon rising out of the inky shadows beginning to spill through the streets, what if he's gone home while you were out here looking for him? I focused everything I had on that thought. He would be at home. I was being a silly little rattlebrain.

I ran all the way back to the apartment, clattering to a halt on the front stoop, scrabbling to get the key in the lock, my fingers shaking so hard I nearly dropped the thing twice.

The sitting room was empty. The kitchen was empty. The loft was empty.

I put my hands on my hips, gripping my sides, and turned in a circle, my vision going watery. He's gone. You're alone. You're never going to see that blasted, beautiful, crazy... I gave in and crumpled up around the sob that tore through me.

The next instant, I forced myself to straighten and swallow down the bile churning its way up my throat. I was not going to fall apart. Crying would do nothing.

Inhaling hard, I hissed my breath through clenched teeth and scrubbed my hands over my face. I would wait until tomorrow. I would give him that long, but if he wasn't back by tomorrow... I couldn't finish that thought.