Catherine stopped the two at the first corridor and glanced in both directions. The moment she turned to the left she resumed talking, her words as nippy as her hurried steps “The Basilisk Gang.” She announced, “Curious lot, since they are of the few gangs of this country not locked to a city. The adage ‘quantity over quality’ describes them perfectly.”

Cirin noticed the various bandits tossed about. Some seemed simply asleep, while other bore bloody bearings. He nearly gagged at the sight. Taba, who noted the same sights appeared un-phased.

“Don’t mind them, keep moving. I dispatched these villain with grace mind you. A quick snip snap and tap to little known corner in the back of the neck. Even a lesser Collison spell would do. My not so magically inclined partner however…” She laughed awkwardly with her eyes tossed at Taba, “He was very much in a hurry you see.”

Taba spoke up for the first time since Barra had left, “He was in hurry? Fa me?”

Catherine nodded, “Say what you will about his temper and his motives, when I saw him run here I could tell he really cared about you.”

“Probably fa dose damned towas.” Cursed Taba.

“I wonder.” Smiled Catherine.

“Catherine.” Interrupted Cirin.

“Right right, this way.” She pointed. Following her finger, Cirin squinted at the blur of lanterns against water. He ran passed the scholar and nearly stumbled off the cobbled path

The waters rushed well ahead of him. He’d seen this place before. He craned his head to confirm his suspicions. The Basilisk Gang had their Gin hideout in the waterway dike of Gin.

When both Catherine and Taba reached his side, Catherine asked the inevitable, “Where’s Sol, Cirin?”

Cirin turned to her. He hasn’t thanked her for saying him, nor had he properly asked why she was there to begin with. But that would have to wait. “He’s close by.” He answered.

As soon as they made up the steep incline up the dike, Cirin recognized the path as he had traversed the day prior with the princess.

The lumbering houses of gin appeared much more menacing in the night. Even the lanterns which would normally hint of more festive times, formed ominous specters in the night. Every now and then, as the trio waded from street to street, Cirin would glance back at Taba who for some reason had followed them. Though whatever animosity she had before had seemingly faded in a single expression that read as shock, confusion, or perhaps uncertainty.

“Ah, Cirin. Don’t tell me the building with the bodies in front of it is your inn.”

Cirin rubbed his eyes the instant he saw it. It was their inn. He ran hard.

“Cirin!” cried Catherine.

Cirin slid to a stop by the inn’s entrance. Blood. Blood everywhere. And the five bodies that accompanied it were draped in black.

He bolted passed the door, desperately listening for any sign of life.

There were no voices when he entered, not even a whimper. He took to the right hall at the table and took a few step before realising they stayed in the left wing.

“Cirin.” Repeated Catherine as she brushed past the door, Taba following her with a look of morbid curiosity.

Cirin grit his teeth as he locked eyes with the first door he came across. It was Azhar’s door.

He reached for his blade and the door clicked.

He hadn’t a moment to withdraw that blade as they figure appeared at the door embraced hi mi nan instant.

“Cirin, ya idiot boy! Manama be worried sick!”

“Manama? Sol.” Cirin pushed Manama aside and rushed to the door. He nearly fell back in relief, “Tank da spirits.” He said aloud.

Sol stumbled to the door, smiling, but tripped moment before he could reach Cirin.

“Sol!”

“Dun move, my prince.” Ushered Manama, passing Cirin to help the boy up.

Cirin kneeled by Sol’s other side and winced as he saw reddened bandaged around the boy’s right thigh.

Steps, and another voice reached Cirin’s ears.

“Oi! You’re da girl from back den.” A pause, “Who da Gisdavar’s trousers are ya?”

Cirin glanced over his shoulder and smiled. He never thought he’d be glad to hear Toftof’s voice again.

He froze as he realized who wasn’t there, “Da old mon?” pressed Cirin, turning to Manama.

“Where do ya tink?” replied Manama, “Looking for ya of course!”

Toftof popped in by the door way and instantly smiled, “Cirin!” he cried, racing to the boy.

Cirin jumped behind Sol, staring at the man in apprehension, “If ya plan to embrace me tink again. I dun do dat.”

“Not unless ya dun ask for it.” Snapped a cross armed Taba.

“Who is dis boy?” said Toftof.

“Girl.” Corrected Catherine and Cirin at the same time.

Sol’s face became a lit, “Catherine!” he cried, struggling to get up.

Toftof stared at Taba for awhile and shook his head, “I dun see it.” Prompting Taba to immediately shift back to her usual attitude.

“I ‘ve had it wit ya peasants, tieves, degenerates and whateva da bald one be. I am- was a count and I shall be treated dat wa-”

“Ow!”

All eyes turned to the prince as he meekly gripped his wounded leg.

“I’ll have ta re-bandage.” Said Manama.

“Dis is why I should have dun it.” Complained Toftof, making for the counter.

“I’ll do it.”

Once more the room was taken by surprise.

Taba sighed and walked up to Sol, only to have Cirin slide between her and the prince.

“Just because ya brudda left ya, doesn’t mean I trust anywhere near da prince.” Started Cirin.

“So you’d radda have him writhe in pain?” Puffed Taba.

“Betta dan murdered.” Snapped Cirin.

“Both of you, stop it.” Said Catherine slowly. She made her way into the already crowded room and promptly placed a hand on both Cirin’s and Taba’s shoulders. “Cirin, you have here an opportunity to test our new ally.”

“Ally?!” roared both children at once.

Catherine ignored them as she turned to Taba, “Taba, know that whatever you do I’m watching you. This is also an opportunity for you. Don’t toss it out. Cirin.” She said again, turning to the boy, “Move.”

Cirin balled his fists and reluctantly shifted out of the way.

Taba took a deep breath. She kneeled low to Sol’s wound. “I’ll remove da bandage now.” She said to Manama.

Manama nodded approvingly and Taba began.

Cirin forced himself to look away at the gushing wound. Yet the moment he heard Taba’s telling snap, he instantly had his hand on his hilt and his eyes on the girl.

He loosened his grip. Instead of the sharp rocks Taba normally summoned, the ones she had now were minute needles with a trail of sand floating behind it. She stared at the wound with her hands above it, and the needles began to sway in and out of Sol’s skin, stitching the flesh back together. Cirin lowered his hands.

He could see a single ball of sweat roll down her temple. Her eyes remained narrowed and focussed.

“Almost dun.” She puffed, steadying her hands once more.

Now, Cirin watched the patient, who despite his fear of sharp objects, bit his lip and waited in silence.

“Oi.”

Toftof’s heavy hand bared down Cirin’s shoulder.

“Dun tink I forgot about ya, boy.” Said Toftof, “Let me fix dat caste of yours.”

Cirin nodded. He had not known Toftof to be the attentive type. He walked to the counter with Toftof and let the man reattach the caste. It stung a little, but not as before. He reared his eyes away from both his arm and Taba and noticed the same object Azhar had been carrying with him earlier leaning against the back wall. It was a long and skinny thing, wrapped in the type of burlap used for carrying fruits.

He attempted to question Toftof about it but became quickly distracted as a thud echoed in his ear. It was Taba, now leaning back from the finished operation.

“Dun.” Wheezed Taba.

“You came back.” Sol’s voice was a soft thing. “Thank you.” Bowed the prince.

Taba tossed her eyes to the side as she employed her arms as supports, “Ya dun need ta tank me, prince.”

“But I do!” cried Sol leaning close. He winced at his right leg, “Ahg. I mean, you were sad.”

“Sol.” Entered Catherine.

Sol lowered his head with a meek glance at Catherine.

“I was sad.” Confirmed Taba. She caught Cirin staring at her and both immodestly tossed their heads away, one in indignation the other out of stubbornness, “Hmpf.” She puffed, “Not dat I consider my stature as a noble ta eva be sad.”

“Tell, me. What ya be da count of now?” sneered Cirin.

Taba made a very un-count-like face at him.

“Alright. Manama say ya all need ta leave now. Da prince need his rest.”

Everyone in the room, save Sol and Manama, promptly shuffled out. Even Taba followed the que. Manama’s word was law when Azhar wasn’t around.

When they stood in the long hall way, Cirin instantly recognized the bearing of several more footsteps and reached for his blade.

Toftof’s grasped his arm before he could make the movement and Cirin caught his shaking head.

“Dun worry. Da men out dere be from da guard. Deir, uh, here fa clean up.”

Cirin ventured to the front of the hall and noticed a contingent of shadows looming by the doorway as several voices echoed just outside.

“Assassins. Patetic honorless tings.”

“Least have da decency ta do it in da morning.”

“Quit bickering ya dust clots. Clean dis up befa dawn, captain’s ordahs.”

There were grunts and the unmistakeable scrap of bodies being lifted from the ground. Cirin stepped back after hearing that, only to catch the end of another conversation as he did.

“I’m going to head back to my inn, in case Barra returns there. Are you sure you’re not coming?”

Taba shook her head. Oddly choosing not to talk, when she had been squabbling all night.

“So when that necklace of yours broke.” Silence and then “I see. Well, regardless young lady, I will question you in the morning.” Added Catherine.

“Listen girl, I dun tink questionin a child be da best ting ta do.” Debated Toftof. He turned to Taba then, “Where ya parents be, little girl?”

“Dead. And I’m not little.” She answered.

Toftof forced a smile. He wasn’t very good at it, “Any uncles, aunts?”

“None.”

“Olda siblings?”

“I have one,” she started, “but he might as well be dead.”

Toftof backed off to that, seeming a little off put by his lowered brows, “If it were up ta me.” He said, “I’d let ya stay here wit us, but I dun make da decisions around here.”

“Toftof was it? Can we have a word?” Catherine seemed adamant.

“What is it girl? I it someting ya gotta say, say it here.”

Catherine sighed, “My mother always said ‘ a simple secret can save a simple life’. So I suppose I best hold on to my words.” She nodded at Toftof, Taba, and then Cirin. “I’ll take my leave now. Cirin, try not to get yourself in trouble. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Catherine left through the doorway after that. The last Cirin heard of her was a few lines of casual banter with the guards and then silence.

Cirin wandered to the hall with Taba and Toftof leaning on opposite side of the wall. He chose to lean beside Toftof, and deliberately so. He glared at the girl, who responded in kind. To him, Taba was still an enemy. He would have said as much if he trusted Toftof more.

Despite all that, despite their shared weariness, they waited for the one man who would decided everything.

An hour passed until that man arrived. The guards were finishing up by then and Cirin stepped out the hallway as soon as he heard his master’s voice.

Azhar was already in the lobby when Cirin got there. For seconds the two stood there., staring. Even if it seemed unlikely behind the mess of hair covering their eyes.

“Old mo-”

“Of all da stupid tings ya dun. Out of all da moronic blunders ya made. Dis.” Nodded Azhar, “Dis, mouse, dis be da dumbest.” He paced quickly to Cirin with a face as snarling as a lion’s, making the boy think twice about backing away.

Azhar reached out and smacked the boy on the head once he was close enough.

Before Cirin could complain and retaliate, Azhar stepped ever closer and wrenched the boy into an embrace. Cirin had the words stolen from him.

“Wondering by yaself in an unkown city and at night?” croaked Azhar. Cirin could not tell whether the old mon was angry. The embrace became tighter, “I’m not going ta ask why, not now at least, but I will ask ya ta be careful. Careful and smart.”

The man let go and continued his pace towards the hallway, “I’ve dun enough fighting tonight ta sleep fa a week. Toftof! How’s da prince?”

Toftof appeared out of the hallway.

“Fine, Azhar, but I need ya thoughts on-”

“And Manama?”

“Same as always, but Azhar-”

Azhar’s measured pace halted abruptly, “Who ya be?” he asked staring down at the girl.

“Cou- Taba. Just Taba.”

“Toftof, who is dis girl?” demanded Azhar.

Toftof tossed his arms to his side, “Dat’s what I wanted ta talk ta ya about. Dis girl has no family, no place ta stay. I tink we should let her stay wit us. Least fa da night.”

“Fa a bandit and one of da sandrat lieutenants ya be softa den da southern sands.” Azhar turned to the girl, “Da answer is no, princess. Now go.”

“Azhar!”

Azhar sighed and tossed his head to Toftof, “We just got attacked by assassins, ya idiot. Ya tink dis be any place fa a little girl?”

“I can defend myself.” Asserted Taba.

Azhar half smiled at the girl and laughed, “Really, now?” He kept his gaze fixed on Taba. She remained a statue, unflinching till the very end.

“Stay den.” Said Azhar as he passed her, “We won’t pay fa ya rooms, so best ya can do is sleep in da hallways. Cirin.” Azhar let his black brown eyes show as he lowered his head to catch Cirin in the eye, “Stay in ya room tonight. I’ll make ya work fa ya stupidity anudda time.”

Azhar brushed by his door and promptly shut it. Toftof was quick to fall back to his room to, tossing Taba one last apologetic look before he shut his door. That left Cirin and Taba alone in the hallway.

“Alone again.” Said Cirin as he made for his room.

“I’d radda it be wit anyone else.” Remarked Taba.

Cirin stopped before his room, pressed open the door, and slighted a comment right before entering.

“Even ya brudda?”

The last thing he saw of Taba, was her slide against the to curl up into a huddle.

Cirin took two steps and collapsed against his bed. He was tired. He had always been through that night and the day prior to warrant a week of sleep, though it wasn’t due to fighting. He rolled to his side and his hair collapsed to one side of his face, revealing one ruby red eye.

It had only been half a day since he learned of Sol’s past.

Since then, there had already been an attempt on his life, while Cirin had been off talking to spirits and getting tied. Cirin balled his free hand and rolled back on his back. He was tired. His eyelids were iron slowing creasing down. Yet, as he remained ever still, he could not fall asleep.

Who would want Sol dead? That was the question indeed. Though Cirin considered it a different way. Who would want the boy dead if they knew the kind of person he was? Surely his father knew. Surely his royal siblings knew. Surely, at least a few of the people of his own country knew.

His weary eyes flipped to the door where the meek light of the hall breached under the door. Did Taba understand the prince now?

He shuffled in his bed until he was sitting up. From there he sighed, and heaved himself off his bed.

A few steps later, his door creaked open to let the dim light of the lobby race in.

Taba sat huddled, yet her golden eyes remained completely open.

Cirin stepped out of the room.

“I’m sleeping in da hallway.” He stated.

Taba rose her head, “Is dis some peasant ting?”

“No.” yawned Cirin, “Its cause my room be taken.” Cirin made his way to the opposite side of hall, “Take it.” He said, sitting down.

“I will not.” Puffed Taba.

“What?” snapped Cirin, “I said I be giving ya da room.”

“Why would I dare sleep in da same bed a peasant slept in?”

“So ya radda sleep on da floor peasants walk on?”

Taba’s eyes twitched and she mulishly tossed her head to the side.

Cirin found himself a little outraged by her demeanour. He thought he had taken the high dune, but instead she made it seem he was losing once again. Cirin hated losing.

Just as quick as he got up, the boy leapt to his feet and trudged to the same side of the wall Taba leaned by. Even worse, he positioned himself until he was directly beside her then fell to his bum.

Taba instantly shot away from the boy until they were half an arms away

“What are ya doing!” she roared.

“Taking ya spot.” Repeated Cirin.

“D-dis is absurd.” Croaked Taba gesturing around her, “Dere are plenty of spots in dis hallway.”

“But I want dis spot.” Argued Cirin.

“You must be as dumb as ya look, peasant.”

“Dumb enough ta ignore a bed when offered?”

Taba crossed her arms as she tossed her head away for the hundredth time, “No matta what ya say, I won’t eva sleep in dat bed.”

“Well I won’t eva leave dis hallway.” countered Cirin.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

And that was enough. He had walked around all day, run quite a ways at night, and had even been captured, yet it was that argument he had with Taba that would ultimately tire him to sleep.

When morning came, Cirin found himself blissfully awake. He blinked to find his eyes crusted. Though the moment he moved to rub those eyes, he found himself leaning shoulder first against a similarly positioned Taba. He jolted awake to that, and reared his eyes in every direction to make sure no one saw.

He took a breath of relief, yet a breath too soon as he had failed to examine what lay right in front of him.

“Oh, so she’s a friend of yours, mouse?”

Cirin allowed his head to fall on his hand. Azhar was the type of man who would stubbornly hold onto first impressions.

Cirin thanked the spirits Taba was asleep for that.

“What happened ta sleepin fa a week?” asked the boy.

Azhar stifled a laugh, “Ya can say our plans have changed.” He made his way to Manama door and Toftof’s knocking once on each.

“Get ya tings, mouse. We be leavin dis city.”

“What?” cried Cirin as he followed Azhar out the gate, “What happened ta spreading da news dat Sol’s alive?”

Azhar halted by the remnants of the night’s brawl, “Clearly da people know.” He grunted, arching his head towards the blood stained walls.

“Da wrong people maybe.” deduced Cirin.

Toftof bolted out of the inn to fetch the pack serpents, while Manama trailed behind. The fortune teller did well to carry the wounded prince on her back.

Cirin hid a smile as he spotted the cheery prince. Even after taking a stab to the leg, he had the spirit to keep going.

Lastly, just behind Manama, Cirin noticed a half hidden Taba lurking behind them. She watched their company behind the inn doors, but seemed to make no hesitation at following them. Her words earlier had made that clear enough.

“Do not even tink I’ll travel wit da likes of you peasants. Go. Leave. I will find my own way.”

Cirin shook his head and pressed on in the interrogation, “We can’t just leave Gin witout doing anyting!” He protested.

Azhar waved his hand at the boy, “The Princess will take care of it.”

By the time they left the street the inn was on, the crowds had begun forming around the inn.

“Did ya get anyting outta da last man?” prodded Toftof.

Azhar shook his head, “Not me, but da guards did. It looks like dese wa Jegga’s men.”

“Jegga? Haven’t heard dat name in twenty years.”

“Wish I didn’t have to fa twenty mo.” Sighed Azhar.

“So we’re heading dere aren’t we?”

Manama’s laugh forced eyes to the teller, “Ya all be fools if ya tink we weren’t goinna head dere.”

“Head where?” chimed a familiar voice.

The company came to a halt.

“Not you.” Sighed Azhar.

“You!” erupted Catherine, abandoning her query for yet another, “I know what you are trying to do.”

“Because I told ya what I be trying ta do. Tell da people dat da prince be alive.”

“Is that really it though?”

“Yes it is.” Azhar stressed, “What are ya here fa, girl?”

Catherine balanced her hands on her hips, “As you are trying to avoid my current inquiry, I’ll answer with my alter intentions.” She glanced at Cirin, “I’ve heard that you’ve run into problems of a magical nature.”

Azhar all but said aloud who he thought the rat was as he spied at Cirin.

“We may have, yes.” Conceded the man.

“Then I am here to aide you.” Said Catherine.

Cirin expected a cool rejection from Azhar. Perhaps even his usual blunt ‘no’. But to his surprise, the man merely shrugged.

“Do what ya will.”

Catherine celebrated her singular victory with clasped hands and quickly made her to Cirin’s side as the company continued its walk.

“How’s your arm?” she asked the boy.

“A little betta.” Said Cirin.

“Manama say a week or two til it heals.”

“Mother Manama.” Said Catherine, “I’ve read a lot about you from the Prince’s letters.”

“Oh have ya now?” Manama grinned at a beaming Sol.

“I’m surprised, you look just as he described you. Braided hair, with beads! Is it true you tell the tales you do?”

“Da very best.” Claimed Manama.

“Then you must let me listen on our travels.”

“A tale be notin’ if not heard, girl.” Smiled Manama.