Hours before, the hall had been buzzing with the laughter, shouts of the excitement, the fury of conversation, Althea’s fight with Goshram had created. Now Goshram was gone, his friends were gone, much of crowd had gone back to their hovels, shacks, pieced together homes– leaving the eating hall quiet, but for the snoring of a few who had no home to go to and the clattering sounds of the Brothers’ family cleaning up the night’s mess.

Traejan was surprised to find the hall so empty – and no sign yet of any of the Ginga’s thugs.

What’s the bastard waiting for? Whenever we upset things here, his thugs were always on top of us.

He scanned the darkened, quietened hall for someone he could talk to – someone who would have their ear to the ground – spotted a familiar figure doing his own cleaning up.

Cuddy was still around, although his brother was nowhere to be seen; probably had gone back to their piecemeal collection of shacks – the men did have family. The little man was doing his part, wandering across the hall loading a box with the leftovers off remaining plates, a bag with the dregs of house brew and tea from mugs. On the other side of the hall, one Keeper’s sons picked up plates, the rattling echoing through the still air.

“Filling up?”

“Got to get something for the kids,” Cuddy offered a quiet response, looked Traejan briefly in the eye, then away.

“How’s the neck,” the man smirked, snickering lightly.

Traejan scowled at the jibe. Still, now was not the time to obsess over that humiliation.

“Brothers letting you clean their plates now?”

“Not everyone’s got enough to eat, you know,” Cuddy muttered, moved on to the next plate. “I’m performing a well received mop-up service.”

Traejan nodded, watching the man’s scraggly mane bob with his scraping.

“Think you can do something for me.”

“Don’t want to cause any trouble for nobody,” Cuddy replied, looking over the bones of another meal, another table.

Traejan followed him.

“It’s not as though we’ve never done anything for you,” he grabbed a shoulder, rough cloth shifting under his grip. Cuddy turned back, a frown on his face, palms up.

“We did try to help you, all of you,” Traejan’s frustration began to leak out. “A little return on the favors would be a nice change.”

Cuddy stepped back a couple paces.

“Yeah, you’ll give us something, they’ll come around and take something else from us.” he snorted, “You’d should’ve stayed asleep.”

Traejan shook his head. He hadn’t been given the choice. Eight out of ninety had survived the two hundred plus year journey. Twenty years later he still didn’t understand the continuing resentment.

“Kaelin didn’t think so,” he countered. “Nor did Rav.”

Cuddy snorted.

“And where are they now?”

Traejan stared at him, not believing what he’d just heard.

“Although,” he continued, smirking. “You’ve been busy, eh. That new woman you’ve got, certainly reminds me of somebody.”

Infuriated, Traejan grabbed the fabric of the bastard’s dirty coat, feeling threads rip, pulled him roughly around. The man dropped his box with a clatter, putting up a hand to shove him off. Traejan took a glance at the boy across the hall. He wasn’t even looking their way. Traejan turned back to the Panaki rat, added another hand to grip the frayed layers of fabric. Their faces were so close he could tell which stew the man had eaten that night.

“You can finish later,” Traejan said between gritted teeth, dragged the man off to the back hallway. Despite the fear on his face, Cuddy didn’t struggle much. Traejan hoped the effort would be worth it.

He pushed through the door and pressed the smaller man against the far wall.

“I’d have preferred to give you something for the information,” he snarled. “But I don’t have the time for shit slinging, Cuddy. What have you heard?!”