12 Seleszeni 10.076 Z.C., Morning

Moving in tandem, the two surrounded Lilla. She eyed them, expression mild, then noticed their daggers still at the ready. She cleared her throat, nervousness creeping onto her face, highlighted by the flickering light of the burning office. Oh yeah, she’s hiding somethin’ alright.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, taking a small step backwards toward the desk.

“You tell me,” Mav responded, matching her step, daggers painted red with blood and firelight.

“Oh, come on!” she cried, exasperated. “That part about Krenko was just to throw them off. We need to get out of here before more of those guards come!”

He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, feeling manipulated by her cautionary suggestion. Instead, he checked her face and body language. She kept her hands down, palms open, and stood her ground as they pressed forward. She looks like she’s telling the truth, but she’s a damn good liar, too. He glanced at Splatz, whose worried face echoed Mav’s concern.

As a black plume drifted between them, Mav realized they needed to get out of the burning forge, now. Flames already covered two of the walls like living tapestries, and the whole room started to fill with smoke.

We’ll watch her for a while, maybe put a tail on her when she thinks we’re busy. If she works for Krenko, we’ll find out. Only a matter of time.

“Fine,” Mav frowned, wiping his blades clean on the fallen Storm Guard’s trousers before sheathing them. “Let’s get out of here.”

Lilla darted for the door without hesitation, dashing for the escape route they discussed with Zazmo. Mav followed, Splatz beside him. The hallways clouded with smoke as the fire spread, guards and workers scrambling for water and fire suppression systems. As they neared the door, a shrill wail caught his attention.

Slowing, Mav peered through the smoke and spotted several goblin aunties struggling at a tunnel junction, laden down with babies and tots - more than they could carry.

“Please, someone help!” one of the aunties cried out.

Splatz noticed Mav’s change of pace and altered his course to match. The two slid to a stop in front of the women, arms open wide.

“Here, we can take ‘em,” Mav offered. Several small goblins clambered onto his shoulders, another grabbing onto his calf and digging in with an oversized, curly toenail. He winced and watched Splatz take a couple of kids from the other auntie - he remembered when he and Splatz were about the same age as these young goblins. The hijinks they pulled…

One time back in ‘63, he and Splatz were playing in the old abandoned warehouse near the warrens, burning scraps of trash for fun. They grew bored, and left the embers smoldering to go climb the rooftops - only to look back hours later and see columns of greasy, black smoke rising from the Sixth as the precinct burned.

No, not now. The paper said an Izzet malfunction caused the fire; it wasn’t my fault. Focus.

Shaking off the memory, he glanced at Splatz, now grown and loaded up with younglings. For a moment he imagined Splatz as a father, but dismissed that thought as the babe on his leg dug their nail deeper. The children filling his shoulders and arms began to squirm and fidget too.

“Let’s move!” he commanded, surprised by the sudden authority in his voice, and jerked his head toward the door as they set off again. The aunties murmured profuse thanks as they followed, carrying the rest of the children out of the forge. They all stopped at a safe distance, at the edge of a small-but-growing crowd, and set the children down. Squinting through the brilliant sunrise, he looked around but found no evidence of Lilla’s whereabouts. Vanishing when the chips are down? Typical.

“Thank you, thank you!” the aunties cried, weeping as they hugged and kissed their children. Then they bid their babies goodbye, and faced Mav and Splatz with tears in their eyes.

“There are still more inside, please help us!” the women begged, tugging the two back toward the burning complex.

“Please, someone help us! Can anyone hear me?! Help!” The voices rose above the screams and clamor of people fleeing the inferno, voices of goblins trapped inside the ramshackle warrens, without enough warning to escape before the flames overtook the tenements. Many of the buildings lacked windows, or more than one door… He stood across the street frozen with guilt and fear, his small body shaking. Safe, in the shelter of a large brick building. Smoke filled the streets, and everyone but him mounted rescue efforts, working to rescue those inside or put out the flames. Flames he left unattended.

Hating himself for the tremor in his hands, he turned to Splatz. His heart stilled at the thought of losing his best friend. Selfishly, he searched for a reason to keep Splatz from returning to the burning building with him.

He found the answer at his hip. Grabbing the satchel full of documents, he pushed it onto Splatz.

“Take this and get out of here; don’t let the ‘jeks find you nearby,” he urged.

Splatz considered him for several heartbeats, taking in his expression. As a matter of course, Mav tried to disguise the raw emotions coursing through him, but his wingmate knew him too well.

“What about you?” the goblin asked, hesitating.

Mav laughed, forcing brash sarcasm. “I’m not afraid of the ‘jeks. What’re they gonna do, fire me?”

Splatz frowned, but grabbed the bag. “You’re starting to sound like Lilla,” he groaned, before adding, “see you at your place.” He beat feet down the street without looking back.

Mav swallowed the lump of helpless fear in his throat and took a deep breath of the clean, familiar Precinct Six air. “What’s wrong, coward? Are you a roc, or a chicken?”

Mav nodded to the aunties.

“Show me where they are.” Together, they ran back into the burning forge.

Emerging from the thick smoke, shepherding the coughing aunties in front of him, Mav lowered the rest of the goblin children to the ground as they wheezed for fresh air. His own chest heaving, the sudden need for fresh air forced him to his knees and he took staggered, shuddering breaths. They’d gotten all the children without a moment to lose - the tunnel to the nursery collapsed behind them just as they left.

Mav rested on his hands and knees, shaking his head as he focused on exhaling to clear the smoke from his burning lungs. The kids wasted no time in crawling on him again, yanking on his hair and riding him like a dromad. He felt a jagged toenail dig into the bruise Lilla kicked earlier, as a babe spurred him on.

“Shoulda known I’d find you here,” a gruff, knowing voice barked, silencing the excited tots’ squeaks.

Polished boots entered Mav’s field of vision, and when he’d collected his breath he followed them up to the wojek’s face. Brutus. How the ‘jek always showed up when things went wrong still astounded Mav, and here he stood - arms crossed, brow arched, biting his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Y’look cute with kids,” he teased, swapping his arched brows. “Y’know, now that you got a real job, ladies’ll be linin’ up to date you. Women love a man in uniform.” Nadine’s constant flirtation sprang to mind. Mav tried to speak, but coughed instead. Brutus filled the silence with no small amount of pleasure.

“There’s gotta be ‘least a half-dozen knockin’ at your door, am I right? Any ladies you wanna tell me about?” he went on as Mav rolled out from under the pile of children, standing up straight and stretching his neck. The kids wandered back to the goblin aunties, who wouldn’t dare approach a wojek unless summoned.

“I’m too young t’court a lady, not even a skyknight yet,” Mav defended, avoiding his uncle’s curious gaze. “‘Sides, you’re way older ‘n me. Why haven’t you had any kids yet?”

Brutus crossed his arms tighter, puffing out his chest to put his wojek badge on display. “I’m married to my badge. No time for a wife an’ kids. ‘Sides, they’d just get hurt anyways; part of the job.”

“No kidding.” No one needed to tell Mav about how you could hurt your family when you swore that oath.

Brutus coughed, perhaps realizing he’d hit a nerve. “Don’t try an’ change the subjek’ on me! Care t‘xplain what in Razia’s name you’re doin’ here, Mav?”

He glanced around, noting other wojeks nearby questioning witnesses. No sign of Splatz or Lilla, or Nadine, Raf and Yarik. Good.

“Fire,” he started, as if Brutus needed no further explanation. The wojek’s expression said otherwise. “Aunties needed help getting the kids out in time,” he tried. This time Brutus snorted, not buying the half-truth.

“Your arm’s bleedin’, ‘d the fire do that?” Brutus pointed out, his voice thick with false patience.

Mav examined his arm, smeared with sweat and soot. Dark blood oozed from the gaping wound in his bicep, sliced open by the Storm Guard’s spear. Any veteran soldier, let alone a ‘jek, would know only a blade could leave a gash with such neat and clean edges.

“Kids have fierce toenails, you know how goblins are,” he lied, pushing a singed lock of hair out of his face. Brutus snorted again.

“You think I was hatched yesta’day? Tell me about tha ice sculptures ‘cross the street!” he demanded, leveling his best interrogative stare at Mav.

Mav’s blood chilled, dread overtaking him. Nadine.

“What ice?”

His uncle studied him for an overlong moment. “See for y’self, we’ll walk ‘n talk.”

Brutus ushered Mav across the street to a small breakfast cafe, keeping a hand on his pendrek. A handful of legionnaires cordoned off a crime scene, while more wojeks questioned witnesses. Several large blocks of ice lay scattered around the area, an unnatural occurrence in this weather to say the least. He eyed the humanoid things in ice, trying to identify familiar figures without giving himself away.

“I dun’ know anythin’ ‘bout this,” Mav told Brutus, approaching the nearest block of ice. His stomach jumped when he recognized Nadine trapped in the ice cage, her face made up and frozen in abject fear. He swore.

“Uh-huh,” the wojek replied, concealing smug satisfaction at cracking his quarry. “Who is she?”

Mav bit his lower lip as he pursed them. Brutus is gonna find out. Prob’ly already knows. No sense in lyin’ about it.

“Nadine Stoutheart. She’s a legionnaire,” he admitted.

Brutus shot him a disappointed look. “I already got an attack in tha street, in broad daylight. And then I gotta fire - likely arson - with my boy crawlin’ outta the ashes like a thrice-damned phoenix, cut t’pieces, an’ with a surprisin’ lack of accomplices! And now on toppa that, you’re tellin’ me we got a soldier down here? A soldier, for Razi’s sake!” Brutus paused to exhale through his nose. “You’re not makin’ my day, Mav.”

Mav considered his uncle, noticing the deepening creases and hard lines of age on his broad forehead.

“I’m jus’ tryina help,” he muttered. Brutus’ face sharpened; Mav assumed the ‘jek would tell him just how much he’d helped, and waited in earnest silence for the true tongue lashing to begin. Instead Brutus shook his head, reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say.

“What can I do here?” Mav asked, voice low.

“Dunno if they’re even alive, but we need t’get these people thawed before they’re dead for sure. If you can’t do that, get your skinny ass over there and start talkin’,” Brutus demanded, pointing to the wojeks taking witness statements.

Considering how to thaw the ice blocks, Mav walked around the courtyard, checking for more familiar faces in the ice. He found Rafiel across the street, looking toward Nadine. He only looked surprised, not terrified like Nadine. Damnit, what happened here?

Frustrated, Mav paced back to Nadine, still encased in ice, wracking his mind for solutions. A breeze kissed his face, and he looked up to the skies, seeking comfort in the familiar forms of skyknights or angels. But no one watched the skies above them, the blue expanse between the encroaching buildings empty. Something tugged in his hair as the breeze passed, and he reached up absently, touching the feather he’d braided in.

“Griffin?” Mav smiled, remembering Splatz’ question during initiation. Angel. Angels could perform miracles, right? He felt the nip of serendipity - they must have been given these feathers for a reason.

His eyes landed on a Legion cleric examining the things in the ice, and hope surged. Ignoring the pain in his arm and side, he reached up and freed the feather from his hair. Soot blackened the once-pristine angel feather. Frowning, he tried to brush the imperfection away, but only smeared the ash in. It’ll have to do.

“Can you do anything with this?” Mav asked the cleric as he neared, offering the feather. The cleric eyed him with obvious distaste, taking in his disheveled hair, dirty skin, and missing shirt. He accepted the feather between two fingertips in spite of his grimace, examining the iridescent white surface, and smudges left by Mav.

The man sniffed and nodded, producing a small brazier. “I think this will be potent enough,” he acknowledged.

Exhaling with relief, Mav stepped back to let the man work his magic. He muttered incantations as he placed the feather in the brazier, invoking the names of the angels and even Azor, before lighting the feather on fire.

Nearby, Brutus’ voice caught his attention, and he strained to eavesdrop on him as another wojek summarized the preliminary witness statements.

“... the young woman was reportedly having breakfast with Rigoleto when he attacked.”

Brutus didn’t respond, and Mav glanced over, kicking himself for the mistake as their gazes met. The older man waved once, sharply, for Mav to join them. Mav complied, and the other wojek shot him an annoyed look.

“Now, I expect t’find you mixed up with tha wrong crowd,” Brutus began. “But what’s a nice girl like Stoutheart doin’ in this neighborhood, havin’ breakfast with scum like Rigoleto? He’s a known criminal Mav, us an’ the Azorius’ve been after his blue ass for years. But e’ry time we put the squeeze on him, the slipp’ry bastard gets away.”

He paused, and when Mav didn’t reply, he went on. “It’s clear you’re not tellin’ me everythin’, and I don’ like it. You draggin’ this girl into your troublemakin’, corruptin’ her character?” Mav tried hard not to laugh. Try the other way around.

“Thought you knew better,” Brutus continued, shaking his head. “Gettin’ your fellow soldiers iced.” The other wojek’s face soured; Mav only prayed Brutus didn’t mention his family name.

“Thought you was gonna amount to somethin’ after you joined up.” The words lingered between them for an eternity. “Guess I was wrong,” Brutus finished, looking his nephew up and down one more time. Mav bit his lip again and fought back tears of shame.

“Le’s go check in on junior, make sure his diaper doesn’t need changin’,” Brutus grunted to his partner, turning on a heel and stalking back toward the burning forge with the other wojek.

Mav followed the column of smoke up into the sky, searching again for hope from above. Still nothing but a vast blue void. Blinking away the irritation in his eyes, Mav tried to push aside his uncle’s words, but couldn’t deny Brutus’ approval meant a lot to him.

Can I afford a bottle of whiskey? he wondered, reaching for his coin purse only to recall he gave the last of his zinos to Jamal for the distraction. Who owes me a bottle?

The cleric’s chanting stopped, and a woman made a small moan. Attention shifting, Mav saw Nadine stepping out of the wall of ice, holding her head and shivering in a daze. He recognized her heavy makeup, unsmeared by the water running down her face, as the same look she sported after Senator Orric’s party. Magic, shoulda known. The cleric threw a blanket over her shoulders and took the burning feather over to the next ice block while Mav hurried to Nadine’s side, steadying her.

She met his gaze, then looked around the courtyard.

“Rigoleto?” she asked, brown eyes serious as she glanced up at Mav again.

“Gone, I think. We got what we needed, the ‘jeks were here when we got out. What happened to you?” he asked. She looked different today, her distant expression at odds with her sultry makeup.

“I was distracting him, then Yarik came from out of nowhere and Rigoleto…” She assessed the courtyard again, her eyes filling with panic as she realized how many wojeks mingled with the soldiers on the scene. “Oh angels, they’re going to interrogate me!” she whispered. “What am I going to say? I’ll lose my commission, and my family, oh angels my family, they’ll-”

The fear in Nadine’s voice drove Mav to reassure her. He hushed her and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “They won’t interrogate you, just debrief. But they’ll still wanna know why you were talking with Rigoleto.” He paused and looked down into her brown eyes, taking in her trembling lip.

“Just play dumb, Nadine. You can’t lie, so keep it short. You didn’t know him, you just stopped to chat. You didn’t know I was in the vicinity. You were alone. You weren’t doing anything wrong. Stick to the facts, and you’ll be okay.”

Nadine sniffled, nuzzling into his chest before squaring her shoulders. “Thanks Mav,” she whispered, smiling up at him. For the first time since they met, he felt genuine affection for her.

“Don’t let the ‘jeks get to ya,” he encouraged, ruffling her curls. Her eyes drifted to his bare chest and he could sense her searching for a flirty reply. Patting her shoulder twice, he removed his arm and waved to a nearby wojek, who walked over to them.

“Soldier Stoutheart needs healing,” he told the wojek. She nodded, taking Nadine’s arm and leading her to the nurses.

“See you later, Nadine, good luck,” Mav bid, walking the opposite direction as she stared back at him with longing desire.

He made his getaway before any of the wojeks thought to stop him, weaving through the aging stone steps and alleyways of Precinct Six. Approaching his neighborhood from above, he opted to enter via the rooftop, jumping from the street onto the eaves of a building. Vaulting over the alleys, Mav jumped from roof to roof until he reached his place.

He slid off the edge, holding on with his fingertips and searching for the windowsill below with his feet before he let go. Dropping onto his ‘balcony,’ he pushed the curtain aside. Splatz sat on the counter, a bottle of whiskey open beside him.

“Jakobsmann bought us a bottle,” Splatz chuckled, tapping on the counter twice with his knuckles and pointing to a gleaming pile of platinum coins.

“I hope he got us the good stuff,” Mav quipped, swiping the bottle and helping himself to a long swig.

“Damn, you look like you needed that drink,” Splatz observed, crossing his arms and nodding.

“Yeah. I’m gonna get cleaned up,” he replied after another swig. Splatz wiped some soot off his forehead with his wrist, looked at it, shrugged, and took the bottle back.