Day, 11th Hour

Government District, Office of Archonship

“Sir Nikias! Sir Nikias!”

There was a staccato pounding on the door. The man sounded like a pack of feral dogs were at his heels, the cadence of his knocks coming fast and hard with sharp-edged desperation.

Iphram frowned. “Master Nikias?”

Nikias shook his head. “Let him in.” This sounded like Togus, who was terrified of nearly everything. If he was ignoring protocol to hammer at Nikias’ door, it was urgent.

He set the budget down on his desk, face-down—there was no need to be careless—glancing at the water clock that stood against the wall.

Hour eleven. Nikias killed the sigh before it left his mouth, though it was a near thing. It was always one thing or another, these days, and he’d have to have dinner right here at his desk if this continued.

It could not be helped. Some things simply had to be done, and done in a timely manner.

Iphram and Dolus glanced at each other, then opened the door.

Togus had been leaning so heavily on the door that he nearly landed on his face, catching himself just in time to slam his knees into the marble floor, panting.

Nikias did not flinch, but he did feel the urge. The man would be feeling that all evening.

He looked like utter shit. He looked like he had just survived a housefire.

Nikias frowned.

…Was something on fire?

No, no, that was ridiculous, that was—

“Sir Nikias!” gasped Togus, “The Eirian quarter!”

Nikias felt his heart sink so low that it was somewhere in the vicinity of his lower gut.

No. No. Surely not. Surely—

“It’s on fire!”

…Fuck.

Day, 2nd Hour

Eirian Quarter, Mahdi’s Tabakh

“No. No. Lucky. You said. You promised. No more crazy bullshit. You promised!”

They were still sitting around the table, though the amphora of wine had long been emptied. ‘Kles wished there was more of it, because he was far too sober to continue. Lukios had his sweetest, most convincing smile plastered on his face, but Askles wasn’t fooled; the man was busy selling a big bag full of absolute shit. That’s what that smile meant: Oh, look at me! I’m your favorite pretty-boy Lukios! And I’m selling you a big ol’ bag of shit, you dumb fuck!

“’Kles. ‘Kles. It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s not crazy and it’ll work. Really. It’ll work!”

“You’ve lost yer damn mind! Pitie! Tell ‘im! Tell ‘im he’s gone barkers!”

“I think Lucky’s right, ‘Kles.” Pitie rubbed his nose, then sneezed. “We made a big mess. Not right t’ walk away now. An’ I think it’s a good plan. Neva thinks so too.”

Neva snorted. “No, it is not a good plan. But it is either this or be rounded up and sold.” He looked ‘Kles right in the eye. “I will not have my sons taken as slaves because you and your friends are hot-headed fools.”

“That’s the spirit! Thanks Neva!” Lukios sounded not at all offended, which was even more proof that he’d gone sun-mad, at the very least.

“You are welcome, fool.” Neva’s tone was completely flat and unamused. The man was shit at diplomacy. It only made ‘Kles crankier every time he opened his damn mouth.

Lukios only laughed and clapped the cranky Eirian on the back, like he hadn’t just insulted everyone. Fucker.

‘Kles bit down on his annoyance. “We can report it. They can’t jus’ go an’ start sellin’. That’s crazy. It’s illegal. We got laws.”

“We owe debts for their ‘protection.’ There were contracts for ‘security’. It is debt. Legal debt. We know how the courts will rule. It has already happened with Omidi and his children.”

“But—”

Lukios held up his hands. “It’s fine! It’s fine. It’ll work. We got enough guys, I think.” He gave Neva a side-ways look. “You sure your friends’ll show? I mean…it’s short notice and all.”

Neva and Mahdi glanced at each other and nodded. “Yes. Many shops closed. And wives and children were sold already. Many angry friends. They will come.” Mahdi smiled. “Many were auxiliary too, you see? So was friend Neva.”

The bigger man grunted. “For all the good that did.”

“Oh yeah?” Lukios looked remarkably cheerful now. “Which division?”

“The sixth.”

“That’s uh…Kutos’ guys, right?”

Neva’s stoic exterior finally cracked. ‘Kles felt a sharp little sliver of satisfaction as the man’s eyes widened.

“You know Kutos?”

“We met a few times, but didn’t chat.” Lukios shrugged. “Your guys from the same division?”

“No. Only I am from Heliopolis.”

The three veterans glanced at each other. That would make coordination harder, though not impossible.

“For the record,” ‘Kles spat, “I voted ‘no.’ Like a sensible man. Also for the record, you’re all crazy sons-of-bitches. We’re gonna die.”

Lukios only laughed, though Neva was nodding in agreement. Pitie looked mildly concerned, patting ‘Kles’ shoulder in that way he did when he didn’t get what was so damn upsetting.

“It’ll be fine, ‘Kles. Lucky’ll open the back door and we’ll go in quiet. Then we’ll steal them contracts an’ they can go to the guard an’ get ‘elp.”

‘Kles groaned. “Pitie. I ain’t sayin’ you’re stupid. But you’re stupid.”

“Aw, fuck you, ‘Kles. I ain’t dumb.” The copper-haired man scowled. The sunlight streaming through the windows made his freckles stand out. “Why’s it stupid? It’ll work. Lucky’ll find ‘em and let us in. Neva’ll distract ‘em and we’ll grab them papers real quick. See? Easy.”

“There’s a ‘undred things t’ go wrong.” ‘Kles slapped the table in frustration. “We don’t even know what th’ inside looks like. You think we’ll go in an’ out? No. We’ll blunder like dunder’eads ‘til they notice an’ kill us.”

Lukios held up a hand. “No, no, no. Look. Word is they’re looking to replace some slaves. Neva’s friend—”

Neva made a face at the word ‘friend’ like it was personally offensive. ‘Kles got the impression the men weren’t friends at all, which weren’t surprising: Neva was a prick.

‘Kles didn’t think he had friends.

“—will take me in to sell. I’ll suss out the place real quick. Neva and his guys’ll call for a meeting and while they’re busy we’ll sneak in the back and steal the contracts. There. No contracts, no debt. Done.”

“It’ll be real obvious what we did, Lucky. Real fuckin’ obvious.”

Lukios rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, but the courts won’t side with them if they’ve no contracts. And they can report it then.” He dropped his hand and frowned. “And I’ll have a word with Nik. He’ll fix it.” He gave Neva an apologetic look. “The guard, I mean. Archon’s office takes that stuff real serious. Really.”

Neva snorted, but did not argue. Lukios beamed, obviously taking this as agreement. ‘Kles held in his sigh. There was no point in protesting, and no point in leaving; he couldn’t let his stupid, hot-headed friends get skewered alone now, could he?

Damn, Chloe was gonna be so pissed later.

“Okay, so listen up.” Lukios leaned over the table, tracing a map of the district with his finger. Mahdi held up a hand, then hustled to the back of the counter and produced a tablet and stylus.

“Aw, thanks, Mahdi!” Lukios beamed, then continued. “Timing has to be perfect, and that means…”

Day, 4th Hour

Eirian Quarter, Neva’s Butcher Shop

Sweat beaded Neva’s forehead and dripped down his temple, but he remained sitting with his fingers flat on the table.

The morning had been cool, but now it was past noon and the day had gone hot, hotter than it should be for this time of year.

No, that was a lie.

Neva wasn’t sweating because it was hot.

“Baba?” Hashur handed him a cup of water, brow crinkled. The boy was far too young for these concerns, but such was life: it came with its claws and teeth as it wished, whether the victim was boy or man, infant or elder.

He took the cup and drank. The water was cool and sweet, and it helped steady his nerves—a little. He would have preferred wine, but he could not afford to be anything but sober for his foray into the lion’s den.

“Baba?” Hashur again. His voice was thin.

Neva suddenly came back to himself, blinking. Hashur was still clutching the pitcher of water, while his brother, Zadi, minded the counter. They were both staring at him, faces pale. The chickens were clucking at each other in their cages, and suddenly he was irritated by the smell of blood and salted meat; he took another sip of water to swallow it back down.

They were disturbed still by all the violence. Neva had thought to at least get them out of the shop, but it had been far too dangerous with the men fighting and the furniture being flung about; they’d been reduced to upturning a table and hiding behind it. Hashur was shaky, and Zadi, now that they were alone in Neva’s shop, occasionally trembled.

“Everything will be fine, Hashur, Zadi. We’ll go on as usual. Keep minding that counter and make sure you greet our customers with a smile.”

Neva was lying. He did not know if things would go on as usual, but he had no choice now: the waves had come in, and he could ride them or drown.

And the timing had to be absolutely perfect.

Neva and his friends were waiting. Neva was waiting in his own butcher shop; his friends were dispersed around the neighbourood, watching for Nasra. As soon as they saw him pass by, they would begin trickling toward the guild house. Once there, they would all demand an audience with Heru. Their numbers would prevent Heru from seeing them inside the guild house, but the man wasn’t an idiot; he’d likely have his own men come out in force to keep the obviously restless Eirians in check. Neva and his friends merely had to hold them all there, in the courtyard, for as long as possible, and if it went well there would be no violence.

But if there was violence…

Payam, who had led a unit of skirmishers during the Sander excursions, had led his own friends up into the apartment buildings beside the Faravahar compound in groups of two or three, to avoid suspicion.

Neva was certain they’d be caught after the first volley—if it came to that—but it was better than nothing. He hoped Payam had escape routes planned; those buildings were owned by the guild. They were filled with traders and workmen affiliated with the Faravahar, however loosely; Payam was a brave man. This would not prevent him from dying, but at least he could tell his fravashi that he had lived and died well.

Neva’s sons glanced at each other, then busied themselves with the work of running the butchery. They were good boys, and Neva was proud to call them his sons. His Reva would have been proud too, though she would have been heartbroken at the state of things now. It was a small mercy that she had passed in her sleep, years before.

Neva stood and walked into the back of the shop, to the small shrine he had there to Anahita.

Neva had already made an offering, but surely another one would not hurt? It was up to the gods now—the gods, and their own will and mettle…

…And the very strange Illosian.

Neva lit another stick of incense and placed it in its holder.

He hesitated to call the man Eirian. He was not that. But he spoke the mother tongue well-enough, though his mannerisms were unmistakably of the empire—one of the so-called plethos, despite his distinctive eyes.

Such eyes were not so common, even in Eir. But surely the man could not be…?

Well, of course not. It was confusing and annoying, and Neva simply did not know how to contend with such an odd creature.

This ‘Lucky’ was obviously insane, but he and his friends were very talented at killing, so Neva was not about to complain; if anything, it could only help should the situation boil over into violence.

Neva did not wish for violence. He had two boys and a shop.

But he wasn’t an idiot, either.

No, this was the best shot they had, particularly since the three violent thugs had killed Heru’s thugs—so it was now or never.

Prayer. Steady nerves and prayer. That was all he had, now.

Neva hoped Lucky would refrain from dying until his task was done.

For all their sakes.

Day, 4th Hour

Eirian Quarter, Alleyway

Askles tried to make himself as small as possible as he crouched behind the broken fence. The alleyway was tight and it stunk like shit. There were rats, and these fuckers weren’t shy at all.

He glared at the innocuous back door that led into the guild house. Some slaver named Nasra had taken Lukios, dressed in a burlap sack and tied with the flimsiest rope they could find, into the compound to sell.

It was a crazy fucking idea—a Lukios idea. An Illosian citizen, pretendin’ to be a slave? Outrageous, not to mention unmanly. Only Lucky would’ve thought of it, and only Lucky could pull it off.

Crazy fucker had even laughed about it.

Askles shifted his weight again. Damn, his leg was fallin’ asleep now. How much longer did they have to wait? That Nasra fucker had gone in a while ago, Lucky in tow, but he hadn’t come back out yet.

‘Kles hated waiting, and the slave-trader had looked shifty as a Yartan thief at dawn. The man was stone cold, as far as ‘Kles could tell, ‘cause it was obvious the man’s customers were getting a dud—but the man didn’t seem to give a fuck. Dishonest merchants were like rocks—just everywhere—but damn.

This was a whole new level of lying shithead. The man had taken money from them to deliver Lucky here, and he’d get paid again once he ‘sold’ the man, ‘cept the goods weren’t good and this whole thing was gonna go bloody real soon, no matter what anyone thought. It was obvious.

Fucker was stone cold. Stone. Cold.

Hurry up, hurry up. That rat looks real hungry…

The back door opened. Nasra was looking behind him and laughing, then he turned and clapped a man on the shoulder before stepping out the door and leaving. His bodyguards trailed behind him without a word, and Nasra didn’t even glance in ‘Kles or Pitie’s direction as he went on his way, whistling cheerfully with a little spring in his step.

That wasn’t their cue, though. They still had to wait until Lucky let ‘em in.

‘Kles craned his neck from his spot to see if he could spot Pitie. The man was hiding closer to the door, but he was really hunkered down; ‘Kles couldn’t see a thing past the pile of old jugs and junk they’d all tossed into the alley. It was disgusting. No one in Lofos treated their streets like that.

City folks were nuts. Dirty, too.

Come on, Lucky. The rat that had been eying ‘Kles made a little squeaking sound and moved closer, whiskers trembling in his direction. ‘Kles glared at the rat with his good eye. The thing wriggled its black little nose at him, and ‘Kles barely kept from kicking it.

“Shoo,” he hissed. “Fuck off. Git!” Askles wasn’t scared of rats, but this fucking thing would give him away. It was real suspicious for animal to act like this, weren’t it?

It only squeaked at him, but didn’t move.

The balls on that thing. Seriously. What the fuck was wrong with Kyros?

Askles glared at the door, willing it to open. His other leg had started to cramp now, too. Fuck.

What a shitty day this was shaping up to be.

The next time Lucky came bouncing up with that shit-eating smile, ‘Kles would tell him where to shove it. He would tell him no, absolutely not—

‘Cause no amount o’ free breakfasts were worth this.

There was a second squeak, this time coming from his other side. ‘Kles refrained from groaning.

Askles was not having a good day.

Day, Half-past 3rd Hour

Eirian Quarter, Faravahar Compound

Jaadi was not having a good day.

First, that slut Leyla had gotten caught fucking Bodi. Jaadi didn’t care who Leyla fucked, but he did care if she got caught, ‘cause Vaha had been pissed; he’d been so pissed off that he’d beaten her black and blue, and now she was useless, lying on her mattress and moaning.

That had gone on all morning, and there’d been no shutting her up.

Second, Bodi was now missing his dick—along with a whole bunch of other, more important bits—which meant that Jaadi had had to send the new boy to fetch supplies, except the new boy was an idiot. He had taken too long, and now everything, from cleaning to cooking to doing whatever else, was delayed.

This had pissed Vaha off even more, because Heru had finally noticed that no one had served breakfast.

Fuck.

Even worse: Keydhi and his idiots hadn’t come back yet.

Jaadi was not leaving the kitchen. No. He was going to stay right here by the fire, and hopefully, no one noticed him there, because he didn’t feel like getting his ass beat over some problem that wasn’t his.

This was all Leyla’s fault, that stupid bitch. If she hadn’t been such a cock-loving whore, none of this would have happened: she wouldn’t be a worthless pile of mush, and Bodi wouldn’t be dead.

Well, he wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon. The boy was useless now, so Jaadi had already sent a runner to see if that lunatic, Galen, wanted him. He’d heard that the man bought bodies under the table to cut. Jaadi couldn’t imagine why, but money was money.

It was almost sad about Bodi, except for the part where he had known better than to go sticking it in Vaha’s slut, so it was more pathetic than anything else.

What was it with kids these days? Did they just not know how things worked?

Someone knocked on the door, and Jaadi yanked it open.

“Nasra! Finally. You got our replacement?” Not for Bodi, of course—that was a mess that still needed sorting. No, this was for that boy—what had his name been? Jidi? Jadi? Jiji?—who had done translations upstairs. He’d eaten something disagreeable and never recovered. It was inconvenient, because it was hard to get an Eirian slave that could read and write in the mother tongue and Illosian—at least one that wasn’t local.

No one was stupid enough to keep the locals as slaves. That’d lead to a riot for sure, and that would bring the guard down on everyone. No, those kids were for selling—Astropolis, maybe, or even Heliopolis. Elysium too, sometimes, though they liked theirs as young as possible. Easier to train, that way.

The tall, bearded Eirian stepped across the threshold with his arms outstretched, and Jaadi gave him a hearty hug.

“I do, I do. You got my payment? This wasn’t easy, you know. Rush orders are always hard, eh?”

Jaadi nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course.” Jaadi poked his head out of the kitchen and called for an errand boy. He’d have to go up and fetch a bag from the treasury. He turned back to Nasra. “He healthy? Last one was whip-smart, but sickly. Didn’t last too long. Don’t give us anything skinny.”

Nasra grinned, showing off his white teeth. He tugged the rope in his hand and the slave stumbled forward, ducking to avoid hitting his head against the low stoop of the doorway.

He was huge.

Jaadi blinked. How…?

He was so big. How had Nasra gotten such a big one?

The slave had dark, dirty hair—well, he was dirty all over, actually—but he had broad shoulders and hard muscles. His strength was obvious even beneath his rough spun tunic, which was held together by a bit of rope. He was wearing surprisingly sturdy sandals, and his skin looked healthy beneath the grime.

“Head up,” snapped Jaadi. The slave had been trained, at least; he kept his head down until told otherwise.

The man did as commanded, though he kept his eyes down nice and proper.

“Open your mouth.”

He obeyed again. Jaadi pulled the man’s lips back to check his teeth.

…He had all his teeth. And they were white.

What the fuck?

“Show me your hands.”

The man obeyed again.

They were rough, callused. His nails were filthy, lined with some kind of black grime.

White teeth, but rough hands.

…Where had Nasra found this one?

Nasra caught Jaadi’s eye and smiled. “Owner got tired of him.” He shrugged. “He can serve anywhere. Bedroom, too.”

Ah.

Jaadi eyed the slave again. Yes, he could see the appeal. Well-fed and well-kept, but worked hard, too. Poor fucker had outgrown his owner’s tastes, is all. He was a handsome man, but well, he looked like a man. Rich men liked boys until they grew out their beards; usually they sold them off, after. This one had lasted a remarkably long time, judging by his age.

“I hope you don’t shit yourself.” Sometimes that was a problem with bedslaves.

He shook his head. “No, âqâ.”

Jaadi grunted. “Don’t think you can sleep your way into favors here, either.”

He shook his head again. “No, âqâ.”

“You speak Illosian?” He likely did. Jaadi was almost certain his owner had been Illosian, because Jaadi would have seen him around, otherwise.

“Yes, kyrios.” Hm. No accent whatsoever.

Jaadi moved to the kitchen counter and picked up a tablet. It was a list of groceries in Eirian.

“Read that out loud.”

The man obeyed. Jaadi peeled off the wax and reshaped it, then placed it back in the tablet before writing a short message in Illosian.

“Read that too.”

He obeyed again.

Jaadi gave him the stylus this time. “Can you take dictations?”

“Yes, âqâ.”

Jaadi spoke slowly, giving the slave enough time to write down what he heard, first in Eirian, then in Illosian.

He checked the tablet. No errors.

This was a very good find.

“See?” said Nasra. “Exactly as I promised. When have I ever let you down?”

Jaadi smiled and clapped the man’s shoulder. “I never doubted you for a second. Procedure and all.”

Nasra’s expression was perfectly friendly and genial. “Glad to hear it.” He glanced out the window. “I trust you want this one, then? If not, I’ve got another buyer—”

“We’ll take him, we’ll take him.” Jaadi sighed. Heru had been insufferable for weeks now, and not only because of Vaha’s antics. No, the paperwork had piled. Waiting longer for a better deal just wasn’t worth it, and besides, this one was obviously well-trained already too, which was a plus. It made his job easier.

Leyla moaned from down the hall, and there was a rhythmic thumping. Then she moaned again.

Nasra looked disturbed. “Someone sick?”

Jaadi shrugged. “It’s that whore Leyla. Ignore it.” He tried not to let his discomfort show.

The slave’s head was turned toward the hallway, head tilted toward the ground so Jaadi couldn’t see his expression. The man frowned. “Pay attention, boy.”

“Yes, âqâ.” He turned his head back to Jaadi, still facing the ground.

There was nothing threatening about his posture at all, but Jaadi felt a little shiver run down his spine as the hair on his arms prickled.

He glanced at the slave again. Yes, his head was properly down and his had a stoop in his back and shoulders. He’d been properly broken in already; there was nothing to worry about.

Though…he was awfully big. He could do some damage if he wanted.

…No, no. It was fine. Nasra’s goods were always top tier.

“Well, here’s hoping this one works out better than…whoever that other one was. What’d you name him again?”

“Jiji.” Or had it been Jidi?

“Well, it could’ve been worse. You could’ve bought him full price.”

Well, that was certainly true. But the discount hadn’t really been worth it.

The errand boy reappeared and quietly crept into the room, standing docilely in the corner until Jaadi gestured for the purse. He shuffled forward with his head down and gave it to Nasra with both hands. Nasra smiled, pulling a folded sheet of paper from an inner pocket before tucking the money away. The merchant didn't even pause to count the coins before he sorted the paperwork.

Well, of course not. The Faravahar never cheated their partners. It would have been insulting if he had looked.

“Always a pleasure, Jaadi. Good luck with this one. He’s nicely broken in already, though, so I think you’ll be fine.” He reached over and patted the slave’s head like he was Nasra’s favorite hound. The slave didn’t move or change his posture at all.

“Thanks, Nasra. We knew you’d come through.”

Jaadi shut the door behind the merchant and barred it. Then he turned to their newest acquisition.

“Well, your name’s Jiji now. Understand?”

“Yes, âqâ.”

Jaadi eyed him, but the man’s servile attitude didn’t change.

Good.

“I’ll show you around the compound. Pay attention and keep up.”

“Yes, âqâ.”

Jaadi glanced at him sharply. Had there been a just a hint of sarcasm there?

Jiji kept his eyes down and shuffled forward, exactly three steps behind.

No, no.

Everything was fine.

Day, 4th Hour

Eirian Quarter, Neva’s Butcher Shop

Nasra ambled down the street, flanked by his guards. He passed by the butcher shop, not pausing, not looking, but that was his cue; Neva stood and put on his cloak.

His boys watched him with tense, pallid faces.

“I’ll be back for dinner. How about something special? We can use up that salted beef, hm?” Neva smiled, but his sons didn’t smile back.

“Okay, baba.” They glanced at each other, then back at him. “We’ll stay put and do a good job.” That was Zadi. Neva sometimes worried that he was too bold, but today it would serve him very well. Neva raised his hand, which seemed to have developed a will of its own, and stroked his son’s hair. Zadi’s chin wobbled, but the boy forced a smile—brave, just like his mother. He kissed Zadi’s head, then moved to Hashur and did the same.

“See you soon, baba.”

Neva swallowed, smiling at his boys, then left the shop.

As he made his way down the street, a small crowd began to form behind him.

Men drifted out of shops and apartments, all moving very casually, like they had all decided, at the same time, to just take a stroll, right then and there. They all wore cloaks, and though they were not visibly armed—that would be inviting violence—Neva knew they had done the same as he and tucked a sling and pouch of rocks beneath their cloaks. Neva could feel his at the small of his back.

Some men had walking sticks. That was as visible as things got.

The guild house was an apartment building with a stone wall around it. There were little shops in the outer wall that faced the street, though everyone knew they didn’t really sell anything; they were there to clean dirty money. The only way into the courtyard was to walk between those shops and through the gate, which made violence a truly terrible idea. Neva hoped—desperately—that it would not come down to fighting.

The gate was often left open in the day, but there were always people keeping watch in the little courtyard; today, those people were Husa and Suha.

Husa looked the same as always: hairy and filthy. Suha too, though he liked to keep is black beard neatly trimmed. Too bad the rest of him wasn’t so well-kempt.

The moment Neva stepped into the courtyard, they looked up, glanced at each other, and grinned.

“Well, if it isn’t our old friend Neva! Come to beg?” Husa snickered. “Which one, this time? Mahdi? Shirva? A sad dog with a limp?” The two men elbowed each other and laughed, but the laughter died as soon as Harya stepped into view behind him.

Then Koura.

Then another man.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Soon the courtyard was full. Neva knew Payam and his men were next door, quietly waiting on the rooves with slings at the ready, just in case.

Neva was a peaceful man.

But he wasn’t an idiot.

“What the fuck is this, Neva?” Suha’s tone had gone cold and flat, sharp-edged. “There are easier ways to commit suicide, my friend. Much, much easier.”

Husa gestured to a woman who had been busy arranging small linens on a line. She came, and he muttered into her ear and sent her off. She stared at the men with wide, alarmed eyes, then scuttled back into the building.

“We just want to talk. Peacefully. Call Heru down.”

Husa laughed in his face. “Heru's too busy for bootlicking dogs. You’re not getting inside. Send your boys out and sit down, or we put them down too.”

Abruptly, Harya laughed. He was Neva's age, but he'd never married; he was built like a whippet, and his speech was often quick and cutting. He rarely laughed, but today he did: gustily, and with great mockery.

“You gonna put us down, boy? You?” Harya was shaking with mirth. “I’ve put more Sanders in the dirt than you’ve killed flies, boy. That sword don’t make you a man. Whores don’t, either.”

“If your dog keeps barking, he’ll lose his teeth. And his head.” Suha’s hand was already on his sword.

Neva raised his hands. “Enough! We did not come here to fight. We came because we all have something to say. Call Heru. Come. He is our very important benefactor. Surely he wishes to hear what his grateful friends wish to say? I am sure he is eager to help.”

“Cute. Real cute. Go suck a pox-ridden cock, you old cunt.” Husa had already drawn, and was idly tapping his palm with the flat of his blade.

This was not going well.

There was movement inside the building, and the front door swung open. Men filed out quietly, armored and armed. Slaves scuttled out, holding a chair and table which they set out under the shade of a tree.

Vaha stepped out and ambled leisurely to his seat. He sat, and gestured. A pretty girl with a great deal of kohl around her eyes and paint on her lips, and very little everywhere else, hastened forward with an amphora of wine. She poured him a cup and tried to slink behind the line of men, but at Vaha’s glance—casual, but full of warning—she froze and stood by the table, smiling widely in a way that did not hide her terror.

Another slave skittered forward with a water clock, which he set up hastily on the table, then fled.

“I have fifteen minutes for petitioners. Then you fuck off—otherwise? Things get messy.” He shrugged. “Not that I mind. Widows are a good ride.”

There was only one seat, and Vaha was in it.

The filthy pimp.

Before Neva could step forward, Vaha pointed behind him to Kouha. “You first.”

Ha.

“We want to talk to Heru, not you.” Neva did not wish to posture, but he could not let this go. Wordlessly, Harya and Kouha stepped forward to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“You deaf now too, Neva? He’s got no time for you. You talk to me or you get out. On your own two feet or in a sack, up to you. Now shut your yap and sit down.” He pointed nodded at Kouha. “You. Say what you have to say or get out.”

In a way this was good. It would give the crazy halfer and his friends more time, though…

Heru was still inside. If he was in his office, it would be impossible to steal the contracts and other promissory notes.

Neva had to try again.

“We have a problem, but it has to go to Heru. Call him out. We just want to talk.”

Vaha sighed. “Neva,” he said, “I’m going to fuck your sons and sell them.” He raised his hand and gestured--

--and then all hell broke loose.