9th of Braxos

My head smacked off something solid, startling me out of the weird dream I had drifted into. I peeled my dry, gritty eyelids apart and aimed a dull, sidelong glare at the banister, which was now supporting my left temple. Then I pushed myself upright and turned that dull glare on the inside of the front door.

The night sky wasn't dark anymore. The grey of morning was trickling in, brightening the little square of window. Birds were beginning to sing.

Arramy hadn't come home yet.

I closed my eyes. My stomach knotted up uncomfortably against my spine, but even that was tired. I hadn't thought about anything – hadn't allowed myself to plan for anything – beyond him coming home. Eventually, though, I was going to have to stop waiting. I would have to get up off the steps, and... that was where my mind dug in its heels and rebelled. I couldn't get past that point of admitting that something would have to happen once I stopped waiting. I would have to keep going. Moving.

Without him.

I couldn't do that. The world wouldn't make any sense. So I sat there, staring at the door when I should have been gathering my things, preparing to run because if they had found him, it wouldn't be long before they came looking —

There was movement on the stoop: a shadow beyond the murky, age-rippled glass of the window; the scrape of keys in the lock.

I sat up straight, my heart staggering to a stop in my chest.

The door swung open.

I didn't breathe. I couldn't. I just watched as Arramy came slowly inside, his head down.

He was limping slightly, his movements stiff as he took off his dockhand jacket and hung it on the peg.

It took three tries. "Where..." I finally managed, hardly able to make the word form on my tongue. My eyes were stinging, hot tears brimming over whether I wanted them to or not. I had to look away for a second to get my voice to work, then ground out, "Where were you?"

He paused, still gripping his jacket. After a moment, he turned his head slightly, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

There was blood on his collar.

As if drawn by a magnet, my gaze traveled, picking out more flecks of scarlet. There was blood on his hands and splattered up his forearms, blotches and lines of it darkening the grey of his pants. So much blood. Too much blood. I was on my feet, moving without thinking, reaching to touch him, to take his arm and pull him around to face me, to see if he was hurt and —

He flinched, ducking away from me, drawing his right arm against his side in a gesture that brought me up short.

I understood that flinch. I recognized it, deep down, where I felt broken and small and helpless. That desire to avoid being touched or cared for, because concern and gentleness only makes you feel smaller, and more broken. I lowered my hand. "What happened?" I asked, keeping my voice level. Brusque, even, as I stepped back, giving him a clear path through the sitting room.

After a moment he turned and strode past me around the stairs, heading into the kitchen. He went straight to the scullery sink and began stripping off his work shirt. It was worse down the front, and I bit my lip to hold in a gasp as he pulled the thing off over his head, revealing both the extent of the beating he had taken the night before, and several newer scrapes and cuts.

He didn't look at me. He hadn't looked at me once since he walked through the door, doggedly keeping his eyes on anything but me as he grabbed the soap and the wash rag, splashed water over his arms and chest, and began scrubbing. Hard.

That was also something I understood. He would talk if he wanted to. Now, he probably needed something normal. Something sane.

I put the kettle on the stove and dropped a token into the meter. Tea might help. It would help me, anyway. I was still grappling with the fact that he was in the kitchen and not on a prison lorry somewhere, or floating dead in the harbor. It was taking all the control I had to keep myself from going over there, wrapping my arms around his middle, and dissolving into tears against his chest. Tea gave me something else to focus on.

While the kettle heated, I went back into the sitting room and found his only clean shirt, then fetched his towel from the hook in the privy, draping both over the chair on his side of the table. I was pouring tea when that low, gravelly mountain brogue finally broke the silence.

"I asked Padashiri if I could work aboard for passage. He's got a boat bound for the Colonies in two weeks, and I thought... if I worked aboard for mine, we'd have enough money to pay for yours."

I glanced at him, waiting quietly.

He wiped his face with the towel and turned around, his eyes skating toward mine for a second before he looked away, his jaw clenching. "He ah... had something else in mind." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a familiar velvet bag, tossing it onto the table.

It landed in front of me with the dull thunk of heavy coins.

There was more to this story. I could see it in his face. Without a word, I slid his mug of tea over to his place, and sank my tired self into my chair, wrapping my hands around the warmth of my own tea and taking a careful sip. It was an invitation, not a demand.

Arramy eyed the tea, then snagged his clean shirt and pulled it on, covering up the patchwork of bruises decorating his ribs. It was thin armor, but it was armor, nonetheless. He took a breath and relented slightly as he let it go, moving to pull his chair out. He eased himself into it, then picked up the tea mug. He didn't drink from it. Instead, he set it down again and ran a finger along the copper handle before lowering his hands to his lap. "I don't know what happened last night," he rasped. "I stopped at Padashiri's office after my shift, to talk about working for passage... He ah... He offered me a drink. He must have spiked it with something... After that, it's just bits and snatches. A warehouse. Men. I have no idea how I got there, who I fought, where all the blood came from... I woke up an hour ago in the alley behind Grint's, with that money in my pocket."

He paused, his brows lowering. His tone was flat when he started speaking again. "For most of my life, someone has been pulling my strings. Making me fight for food, making me fight to stay alive... making me fight who they want me ta fight. Panesians. Pirates. Aim me at whoever ya want dead and turn me loose... No one has ever looked at me and thought I could do anything else. Not High Command, not the Coventry, not even NaVarre. I'm just a useful monster... No one has ever bothered to ask me if I wanted to do it, either, they just took for granted that I would if they flipped the right switches... And I've let them." He tilted his head. "I've given them what they wanted. I've done things I've no right to come back from. There's so much blood on my hands I don't know how to wash it off... But lately... For just a... just a moment... I let myself start thinking I could be something else."

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, one corner of his mouth tugging upward in a sardonic half-smile as he examined his bruised knuckles. "But maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe this is all I'll ever be. Maybe this is all I'm good for... You were right. I should have thrown that fight with Moavany. Turns out Barraban's richer patrons like to sponsor private matches on the side. Higher stakes. Padashiri has got it into his head that since I work for him, I'll fight for him... So he's had a talk with the other Bosses. They won't give me passage on any ship bound anywhere..." He sneered slightly. "They would be very happy to take you, though. He made that perfectly clear. If I fight, you can go wherever you want."

Until that moment, I had only listened, trying to keep myself from showing any reaction to the self-loathing I heard in his voice, but the grim acceptance in his eyes was more than I could take. I sat back in my chair, my heartbeat pounding hot in my throat. "So, what then, you're just going to give up and fight for Padashiri? You'd just wind up in a cargo bin somewhere. Or dead. What good would that do?"

He shot a dull look at me. "It would get you off the island."

Eyes wide, I started shaking my head. "No. That's not an option," I said, chin jutting. "There has to be a way out of this that doesn't involve you sacrificing yourself, and me stuck on a boat, alone, with Padashiri breathing down my neck. No thank you."

That look didn't shift.

I crossed my arms. "Think of something else." I'm not going anywhere without you.

He was still as a stone, watching me with fathomless, exhausted eyes. "You think I haven't tried?"

"I think there's no guarantee Padashiri will take me anywhere, much less to the Colonies..." I hesitated, debating how to frame what I was about to say so I could leave out the bit about listening to the village drunk, eventually settling for: "We can't wait two weeks. I think we need to leave now. I found out yesterday that Carak is calling up their troops and running night maneuvers. And there are shipments of machinery pouring in from Carak through the ports here on Phyrros."

Arramy blinked, absorbing that information without moving. Then he squinted into a pensive middle distance, scratching at an angry welt on the side of his head. "If Carak is involved, then the Coventry is cutting deals with foreign governments... Which means they're advancing their plans much faster than they should have been able to." His brows knit into a frown. "Which means we're out of time."

"NaVarre's people will need that information," I pointed out.

"Right. Aye," he whispered. "Jarro has a small one-masted day boat he's been trying to sell... It's a long shot, but we could leave tonight, after sundown. Head out across the Carkian Sea to Baltaine, pick up passage on a steam-driven from Tar-Umbari. It's a hard sail from there to the colonies. We'd have to survive the southern hemisphere storms, then get past the Rimrocks, but it's not impossible. We could aim for Aethscaul instead of Nimkoruguithu... How's your Baltan?"

There. Relief sank into me as the man I recognized began to resurface. He was still hunched to one side in his chair, coddling his aching ribs, but there was a spark in his eyes that had been notably absent when he sat down. "I can get us through a port."

Baltaine had a version of Tradeslang. I could figure it out easily enough. I would do whatever it took if it meant Arramy would be coming with me. The mere idea of leaving him behind had my stomach in knots.

"We'll have to keep things as normal as possible," he continued, thinking out loud. "Go to work as usual. I'll talk to Jarro about the boat when I get my break. You'll need to pack before you leave. We'll have to put out on the evening tide." He glanced up at the timekeep, took a deep breath and released it on a gusty sigh. Then he planted his hands on his knees and got up with a grunt. "Speaking of shifts..."

I stayed where I was as he took his tea to the scullery board, grabbed the lunch tin I had packed for him, then went to the front door and pulled his dockhand jacket back on. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me, the hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Later."

Nodding, I gave him a tiny grin. When the door had latched behind him, I bowed my head and let out a groan. How did things always wind up getting so tangled? Padashiri wasn't Coventry as far as I knew, but he might as well have been. Pushing myself to my feet, I gulped the rest of my tea. Then I scrubbed the dishes while eyeing the very empty larder. Arramy had just walked out with the last of the food, and from the sound of things, there was no way to know if he'd be able to stop at Grint's at the end of his shift. There wasn't anything for it. We would need something to eat if we were going to make it across the bay. I got my hat and my coat, pulled on my boots, and found my commissary tickets. There was an hour left before my shift started. I could get what we needed and be back in plenty of time.

~~~

The second shift was still in full swing, and Southend Street was quiet. Mrs. Ardeshi was sitting sentinel on her bench in her patch of yard, and a little farther down, Mrs. Reinost twitched her curtains aside.

Mrs. Reinost scowled when she caught sight of me, and twitched her curtains open a little farther to catch every little thing that happened, but I didn't mind. Nosy-Rosy neighbors had their uses. Those beady, suspicious eyes would be on me wherever I went, and I wasn't going far.

"Rule One: Tell someone where you're going. Say it."

"Rule one. I will tell someone where I'm going."

I closed the front door behind me, then waved and smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Ardeshi!"

She harrumphed, folding her lips into a disapproving pucker. It wasn't that she disliked me in particular, she was just old and ornery. Unless you were tall and spoke with a Northlander accent. Then I had seen the woman flirt shamelessly.

"Beautiful day isn't it?" I called. "You're looking fine this morning. Is that a new shawl?"

That earned an unimpressed once-over from the corner of her eye, but then she relented, a grin of pride creeping through as she gathered the knotwork black and green fabric of her shawl closer. "Aye, t'is. My Lisse made it. Got it in the Post yesterday, all the way from Pordazh Kaskara."

"It's beautiful! I'm on my way to the corner. Can I get you anything from Grint's?"

Mrs. Ardeshi lifted her chin and sniffed. "I've got plenty ta keep me, child." Then she leaned forward over her cane. "But ye could tell that man of your'n I need 'im ta fix me stove pipe. Cain't warm me shins wi'out breathing soot."

Right on cue, my cheeks went pink. I kept my smile pasted on for Mrs. Ardeshi's benefit, but it had gone flat. "He's on a late shift tonight I'm afraid," I lied. "I'll send him straight over in the morning."

"Two. Never go anywhere that no one can see you."

" That's a double negative. It should really be 'stay where someone can see you.'"

"Just say it."

"Fine. Never go anywhere that no one can see me."

I checked to make sure Mrs. Reinost was still observing everything from her window.

She was.

That wasn't enough. She would eventually get bored and stop looking. Arramy would be disappointed in me when he got back from the docks.

I glanced around again. It really was quiet. Still, I wouldn't be completely alone. The staff would be at work in the eateries, getting ahead of the lunch rush.

I patted the well-worn doorframe of 68, whispered a reassuring "I'll be back in a moment," turned, and went down the steps to our little walkway, then on down the block to the row of shop fronts on the corner.

Grint's Commissary had just opened. Mrs. Demyrre was shaking out the mud runner on the front stoop, sending up a small billow of sand with every flap of her arms.

Across the street, I came to a stop and chewed my lower lip for a moment. The shelves probably hadn't been fully stocked yet. If I waited a few more minutes, I wouldn't have to beg her to bring anything out. I also might be able to get a glimpse of 'my man' while he was working.

Flame, meet moth.

I headed for the public dining pavilion across from the eateries instead. It was deserted, save for a few seagulls. Grateful for small mercies, I wound my way between the seats, smiling a little as the gulls complained and took flight on their stark white wings.

Stepping up against the wall separating the pavilion square from the top of the bluffs, I rested my elbows on the capstone, stretching up on tiptoe so I could get a better view of the wharves a hundred meters below. It didn't take much to find the weather-beaten yellow sign of Padashiri's Shipping. The dockhands were outfitting the bulky old Camberstone-Froley steam-driven merchanteers for their return run to Pordazh Kaskara, and pyramids of crates were stacked up on the dock outside the warehouse, ready to be loaded.

Arramy was shouldering a big box of canned fish onto a loading trolley, and as usual, the sight of that dark, unruly hair curling out from under his deckhand's cap made me grin.

My grin died.

What are you doing? Spying on him like a silly lovesick schoolgirl... There are more important things going on! I ground my teeth and dropped down onto my heels again, hating that hollow ache in my chest.

I needed to get the shopping done. With a sigh, I turned toward Grint's.

"Rule Three: Keep your back to a barrier or corner —"

"You know, you're as bad about lists as NaVarre."

"— to a barrier or corner... and keep your eyes on your surroundings."

"Three. Keep my back to a barrier or corner and my eyes on my surroundings."

Up the street, Mrs. Reinost drew her curtains closed.

There was no warning, no hint that I wasn't alone. I was about to start walking back through the seating area when the blur of rapid movement had me had me ducking and spinning, instinct driving my muscles before my eyes had made out what was happening.

Too late. They were too close, too big, and too fast. A rough-spun sack blotted out the light, and then strong hands were grabbing at me, snatching me off the ground.

Screeching, I lashed out with my feet and elbows, slammed my head back in hopes of catching a nose or throat.

That was the end. There was a hoarse grunt and a muffled curse, and then something heavy collided with my temple, and sparks exploded behind my eyes. My body went limp as a ragdoll, and the last sound I heard before darkness stole me away was a low, growled, "'Ey! Don't dent the merchandise, ya minger! Moavany promised them she'd be in one piece."