Sly

My breath came forced and short, suppressed between the boot in my ribs and the hard cobbled stone I lay on. An added insult, the famous midlands afternoon rain had begun, dripping down on my face and mixing with the bleeding cut on my chin from where the brutish guard struck me. Thank Shadow I landed next to the ditch at the edge of the street and not in it.

"Filthy wretch." The snarling face attached to the boot on my ribs scowled down at me. "If you so much as look at my Lord again I'll run my sword through your bitch's heart."

His men laughed. There were four of them, big men in an array of armor over the billowy tunics and tight breeches of the locals. I only saw three of them, which is why I was being pressed into the filth at the side of the street right now. As Dirk would say, it's the one you don't see that will get ya. He'd probably give me a good smack to the back of the head too, for the stupid mistake.

My eyes flicked behind the guards to the fat merchant who hadn't even bothered waiting for them to finish pushing me out of the way before continuing on his way. I shifted my gaze up to the guard who had his boot on my ribs, giving him an empty stare. He probably wanted a frightened plea for mercy. Maybe an apology. I gave him the satisfaction of neither.

He sneered down at me, spitting on the ground just next to my head. He finally removed his boot, sending sharp pains through my lungs as I greedily swallowed all the air I could. He kicked me one last time for good measure and marched away chuckling. I couldn't stop the bile that shot up my throat, and I barely rolled over in time to spit it out on the street and not all over myself.

I watched them disappear, staying on the ground as the rain splashed over my hands. The mud from the side of the cobbled street ran downhill and over my fingers. The damn mud of the midlands that coated everything.

And as the last hint of the guards faded into the thick crowd, I smiled.

Nearly every passerby did their best to avoid seeing the muddy swamp district girl at the side of the road. Good.

I got up, kneeling by the side of the road and running my fingers through the filth. My chin dripped blood into the ditch, distracting my search. I resisted the urge to wipe it away, touching it with my hands right now would probably cause an infection. Scraping aside bones and fish scales, I finally felt the cords of a fine purse in the mud and yanked it free.

I peeled it open. Even through the fresh coating of mud I could see the silver glinting deep inside. I grinned, a feral, toothy display. This had to be enough to help Marak.

Shoving it in my high boots before anyone else could see what I had, I left a sticky handprint on the white building by the ditch as I stood.

Stupid coin. He didn't even look back when his guard hit me for bumping into him. If he paid a little more attention, he may have noticed his missing money.

My eyes searched the tall, vibrant, clay buildings that walled in the market street. Landing on a dark escape behind a bright yellow tower of apartments, I pushed by the hurried shoppers and slipped into the escape of one of Unays's dark alleys.

Inside, the world changed from the vibrant paints and dyes that Unays was known for into a dim maze of mud and stone. A world I was more than familiar with. Buildings stretched to the sky, blocking all but the briefest of the midday sunlight. The alleys were a hazard of garbage thrown from the lofty windows and fallen roof tiles broken underfoot. If you didn't choose your next step carefully, you were likely to land on your ass.

A bell chimed near the temple district. Midday.

"Shit," I hissed, picking up my pace as much as was safe on the uneven paths.

Unlike the main streets, there were no bricks to walk on. Pockets where the mud and clay had washed out left deep pits just begging to trip the first fool who wasn't paying attention.

Thank the gods for knee-high boots. They kept most of the wet off of my feet, even in the worst parts of the city.

I jumped and dodged the worst spots. Mostly remembering this particular path and mostly letting my nose and the slope of the hills lead me to my destination.

The distinct mix of stagnant water and salted fish hit me like a wall. Lapping water tickled the edge of my hearing as the sounds of the docks seeped into the alleys.

Spotting a hint of sunlight, I slipped out into the hot streets once more. I disturbed a flock of chittering market women as my boots hit the solid street and I could finally run again.

Colors assaulted me from every angle. Banners, flowers, and the open-air market that promised fabrics, spices, and jewels from every reach of the world. At the bottom of the hill, past the people and the markets, lay a field of deep blue. The water before me beckoned, a shiver trickling down my back at the sight.

All roads lead downhill into the bowl of Unays. The great lake.

Lake Unays was massive. An inverted mountain filled with hungry waves. The city by the same name sprawled from the banks in all directions. Unays. An oasis of life in a land of clay that could barely grow enough of its tough grass to feed the goats. Two rivers flowed into the lake, and a fat lazy one dribbled out.

But some parts of the city sat higher above the dangerous waters than others. My eyes drifted to the low, miserable buildings that continued to wash out every rainy season, yet the people who lived there couldn't afford to leave it. Home sweet home.

I nearly ran into a woman selling her basketful of bread, causing both of us to startle.

"Watch out you mud maggot!" She spat after me, but I pivoted on the spot and kept going downhill, paying more attention this time.

The rain began to ease as I neared the wooden planks of the doc district.

Water spilled over the docks, angrily pulling at anything it could drag into the depths. A wise Unayan respected the water as much as he needed it to survive. They say the lake bottom is filled with bones. It was probably true.

Floating platforms, chained to the shore and to each other, rolled with the moods of the great lake. Some of them docked barges, floating low and laden with crates from far off lands. Dockworkers expertly unloaded boats, travelers came and went from their ships, fish were brought in buckets and nets, and rushed to market. And then, there were the cages.

Four iron cages, floating on the water and filled with people awaiting trials or death. It made for a cold wet night on the lake. The cages were a public holding area with a butchering block on one side and a bargaining counter on the other. It was hard to say which was used more.

The city's guards with their white tabards and red sashes at their hips walked the docks around the cages with malice. Mongrels.

I scowled as I grew closer. Their masters keep them on short leashes, and they're happy to spill blood for table scraps. It was not popular work, but it paid well enough if you were willing to do anything and everything you were told. My eyes darted to the butchering block and back to the cages as I kept moving.

The bobbing planks took the momentum from my stride as I struggled not to fall over. Dodging two men with a fishnet between them, I crossed the docks to a small crowd.

By the cages stood family and friends of the prisoners. Desperate people begging with what coin they could scrape together to appease the mongrels enough to let someone out of the cages. I spotted a shaggy head towering over the rest of the hot, miserable crowd and joined him.

"Jexa." I slipped in next to the mountain of a man who was squinting at the counters ahead of us. The docks rolled suddenly underfoot and I flung an arm out to grab his to steady my footing.

His arms told the long story of his days as a sailor. Muscled, weathered, and scarred. His hair and beard fell around his broad shoulders and he rumbled when he spoke.

"About time there. Aren't you cutting it a bit close?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the bells," I said. "Surely they didn't start the block with an old one-armed man."

Jexa sighed and shook his head. I stared into the gaunt caged faces. Women around them were crying, some of the prisoners were too. To the side, the butchering block was shining with red splatters. Wet drops still slid down the side. I couldn't stop myself from gasping.

"They didn't start with him, did they?" I asked.

"It wasn't Marak." Jexa put a big hand on my shoulder. My muscles relaxed a bit and Jexa nodded a few yards ahead. "Yer brother 's up front already. You'd best get to him."

I reached up and squeezed his hand in thanks before shoving forward.

I kept a hand low and ready to slap away any fingers straying toward the silver prize in my boot, the other on my knife. Squeezing between bodies, pushing and glaring at anyone who had a problem with it. Overhead the gulls screeched, and the smell of unwashed bodies from behind the iron bars was powerful. The rain could only do so much with them all packed in there so tightly. I bit my lower lip, praying Marak was okay in there.

Near the counter, I spotted Davery right away. A still figure in loose black cotton, watching the cage guards at work. I wedged between a few people and nudged his elbow once I could slip in next to him. He had been watching the guardswoman at the counter when he glanced over to me.

"Any luck?" he murmured.

"Yes." I kept my glance downward and rummaged through my pockets for an assortment of stolen coin. His face was tight as I added piece after piece to his bag as inconspicuously as I could. Finally, I leaned down to my boot and pulled out the merchant's purse. Davery nearly melted with relief.

"Thank the gods. That should do it, depending on what he was charged for." Davery tucked the bag into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Where did you get the silk purse? The same place you got cut?"

"Yeah, actually." I took the cloth and wiped my chin, thankful for Davery's penchant for pocket cloths. "I bumped into some fat coin for it. His guards were looking the other way. Well, most of them I guess."

"I can see that." Davery looked me over as I dabbed at my chin blindly, his brows knitting together in a familiar expression of assessment. "Here, you're making a mess of it."

"I can clean my own chin," I protested.

"Evidently you can't." He took the handkerchief back and dabbed at my jawline. I gritted my teeth, but didn't let on how much it stung. It would be purple for a few days, I could feel it. When he was done, I looked to the other side of the floating platform.

"Who got done in?" I jerked my head to the dripping butchering block.

"Who was done in. It was the man who started that fire last week. I guess they found him yesterday." He squinted at my chin again and handed me back the cloth. "Hold that to it, I'm going to the counter."

I followed him far enough to watch him try to bargain for Marak. He cut through gaps in the mob of people with a grace I still couldn't master, slipping between natural gaps as folks swayed from the waves under the planks.

The brutish woman at the counter just dismissed a crying girl and glared at Davery as she jerked her head, indicating he could approach. He stood straight, calm, and spoke clearly without the lower district accent.

"Hello there, I'm here to ask after Marak. An older man with one missing arm and a white beard. I'm hoping to bargain his freedom, can you tell me what he's done to end up in the cages?"

I snorted. He sounded like he was asking after a particular spice at the market, not trying to save someone's life.

The guard eyed him for a moment before looking down at her list. "Disruption of a city official. That's no small sum. Do you have the coin for it?"

"Thank you for looking, let me see here..." Davery had merged my silvers with whatever he and Jexa had already collected, adding the sum out loud as he placed it all on the counter.

My expression fell as I watched his right hand move stiffly, fumbling to pick up the coins. The white scar that wound around his wrist peeking out from beneath his billowing black sleeves.

"Huh, that'll do it." The guardswoman swiped the pile of coins off the counter into a box, but not before pocketing one for herself.

She whistled a shrill note that ran goosebumps down my back. A burly guard with a long scar down the side of his nose leaned over to take a hushed order from the bargaining counter mongrel.

Davery slipped back to where I stood, and we watched the man walk over to the nearest cage. As he opened the door, two other guards stood watch to ensure no one got out after him. The guard pushed through the people with practiced ease, smacking at hands and cracking skulls with his beater stick. My fingers trembled over the hilt of my knife, watching anxiously as an old man with one arm was pulled like a rag doll from the cages. My heartbeat drummed in my ears as he stumbled with each movement of the floating planks.

Davery silently put a warm hand over mine, and I let my shoulders relax. I glanced over at my brother. Despite being four years older, we looked enough alike that we were sometimes confused for twins. Brown curls, green eyes, and even close in height. But where Davery kept a neat appearance, I barely put a tunic on before somehow getting mud on it.

But despite his neat appearance, I could always tell from his level of composure when he was upset. His eyes crinkled with tension, the only visible hint to his worry. He looked over to me and forced a smile.

"It's alright, he's fine." Davery murmured. I wasn't sure who he was reassuring, me or himself. His eyes fell to my chin.

"You're dripping again. Wipe the blood from your face before the guards see, or go back to Jexa." He whispered.

I touched my chin where the guard's ring had cut me after bumping into that coin. The blood was sticky, and I sucked in a sharp breath when my fingertips brushed against it. I took the cloth and turned, trying to clean up out of sight.

"Here he is," The guardswoman growled at my back.

"Thank you," Davery said before she bellowed for the next person to approach the counter. I turned to see the old man from the cages by my brother's side.

"Marak!" I gently hugged him, pocketing the bloodied cloth as Davery handed him a weathered gray cane.

"Sly, your face!" Marak moaned, his gray beard trembling.

"A hazard of my line of work, don't worry about it. How are you, are you alright?" I asked.

"Let's get him off of this thing before we all fall over," Davery said. "We can talk on the proper street."

Davery was right. I took the lead and made sure the way was clear with a hand on my knife and a hard expression. The people behind us were as eager to move forward as we were to move back. My stomach flipped with every bump and pull of the waves on the planks. My legs wobbled as I finally reached solid ground.

I turned to help Marak onto the dock and Davery caught him from falling on the suddenly sturdy ground. Jexa had joined us at some point while I was making our path through the crowd and he followed behind Davery onto the street.

"Here." Davery offered Marak a waterskin, supporting his one arm while he drank deeply.

"What happened?" Jexa rumbled as quietly as he could. Marak finished the waterskin, then wheezed. He turned to Jexa, concern written on his face.

"You know we was scrapin' grain from the mongrels' own barrels, right?" Marak wheezed.

"Easy, not so loud." Jexa eyed the nearest guard on the docks behind them. "Yeah, we know where you were. Why were you the only one in the cages?"

"While we was at the warehouse someone came in. Biggs wasn't the guard on duty that night. Don't know why. Anyway, we was still on the ledge we come in at, under the window facin' the lake? So I pushed Dirk hard as I could. He fell outside into the water, none too quiet but I guess none too loud either, 'cause the only one the mongrels took was me." Marak moaned towards the cages, his red face scrunched and ready to spill over. "You don't think he was done in do you?"

"He got away Marak, that's who told us you were in the cages." Davery patted the old man's shoulder. "He's at home now, probably sleeping off the adventure of last night."

I pulled the cloth Davery had given me earlier from my pocket, but paused when I saw it was covered in blood. Davery pulled out a second, nicer handkerchief and dried Marak's tears.

"Truly?" Marak composed himself with a little help. Davery encouraged him forward and they began walking at Marak's slow pace. The gentle tapping of his cane clicked against the clay brick streets.

"You know Dirk, he doesn't give anything up without a fight." Jexa smiled. "Not even drownin'."

"Thank the gods for his stubborn hide." Marak sighed.

"We'll walk him home." Davery looked up at Jexa. "Can you send a message to Graham to clear a path to his field? One of us will go there tomorrow. And tell Dirk to sit on that box a little longer, he'll know what it means."

My eyes slid to the streets around us. Not too far from swamp district and not too far from Marak's house.

"Well..." Jexa paused. "I can do that if you're sure you'll be alright. But you stay out of trouble.. That goes double for you, Marak."

Marak chuckled, still shaken from his night on the lake but his spirits were higher now. I breathed a sigh of relief. We had all been so worried about him. Jexa smiled at the old man, then left.

"Be safe, my friend," Davery called after him as he walked away.

The streets curved with the shore of the lake. We walked Marak along, taking care to stay far away from the waves that slapped hard on the banks today. Davery kept by the old man to steady him, and I stayed behind them, scanning for trouble and discouraging pickpockets.

Guards in white tabards spotted the streets, but most paid us little attention. The closer we got to home the fewer of them there were, and once we finally left the last brick streets behind and entered into swamp district's reaches, they were gone. Thanks to the war with Nummelin to the far north, even the city guards were scarce. But what protection they offered didn't extend into swamp's borders, so it didn't matter much to the likes of us anyway. The swamp kept its own laws.

"I wonder why Biggs wasn't the mongrel at the warehouse last night," Davery murmured.

"I don't know, he didn't seem out of sorts when we gave him the last payment." Macaro sighed. "I fear we've went and lost a good source of food."

"Hm, I'm more worried Biggs sang about us to his captain," I muttered. I kept an eye on a group of passing boys, ensuring none of them had any ideas about bumping into us as they passed.

"I doubt it. We've been trading him silver to turn a blind eye for years now. Why end it?" Davery said. "Wait, what's going on up there?"

Davery was narrowing his eyes, straining to catch some commotion up ahead.

"What?" I looked to a square in front of us with a small crowd.

The sound of a wooden stick on flesh rippled through the streets with a crack. My blood ran ice cold at the sound. Marak winced. The people of swamp were silent as death. Dull eyes stared out windows and around doorways at the pool of blood in the square.

"Don't, Sly," Davery hissed and held his hand over mine.

I looked down, realizing I had already drifted toward my dagger.

"But-"

"Don't." His green eyes burned as they glared at me. His hand held firm on mine. "Don't."

Crack. The beating continued, the only sound in the square ahead was the strained whimper of the victim.

"Sorry, Davery," I said, pulling my hand free and running forward.

We didn't just save one life to let another go right in front of us, I had to know who it was. What they'd done, if anything.

And as Davery supported Marak behind me, I ran into the crowd.