Chapter 19

A GAMBLE

‘I know you’re new here and all, Dwellin, but I should be the first to tell you that this is a spectacularly bad idea.’

Another problem with being me, you see, is even when I’m told it’s a bad idea, it makes me want all the more to prove it isn’t. Little did I know this was the first of many moments to come when Malyka would tell me no, and it was one of the few times I would listen to her.

‘How so?’

‘We don’t belong ’ere, Dwellin. Only the rich and righteous get access to the Prophetic Academy. People like us? We get roughed up by the prosecutors and soldiers just for passing too bloody close to its walls. I tell you, it’s all kinds and colours of bad.’

I wrinkled my nose as I stared across the street at the spired building, with sheer walls of white marble and blue pennants. A line of armour-clad and blank-faced figures stood around its entrances, from the stable door to the grand entrance: a mess of six marble rings that I did not care for one bit. Its long balconies bustled with clerics scampering to and fro, hauling about weapons or healing supplies or clutching the classic charcoal and parchment. Why devoting a life to the Venerance came with so much paperwork was, and always will be, beyond me.

‘Somebody once told me there was a devil in me. I want to go see that somebody. I know he’s here and I need to see him.’ I didn’t want to talk to Aberan. I only wanted to look at the coward, to know his heart still beat and that he breathed in the perfumed Venerance air he had been promised. I wanted to see what his betrayal had bought him. That was my right, wasn’t it? It had absolutely nothing to with the slim hope that Lectra had cast Aberan aside for his moody ways or his muteness, I promise you.

‘This somebody. This traitorous brother of yours, I assume,’ asked Malyka. ‘Does he work ’ere or guard the place…? Train the chosen ones, maybe?’

I stared flatly at Malyka. ‘Maybe.’

Malyka looked to Scramp and back. ‘He’s not… you know, is he? He can’t be a chosen one.’

I said nothing in return.

She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well, if you want to see the inside of a cell again, this is the right way to go about it. And seein’ as I haven’t been paid to do anythin’ yet, we’re not gettin’ any closer than I ’ave to. Especially not Scrampy ’ere. There’s plenty that don’t like the look of his kind.’

Scramp stuck out his tongue. Tasparil did the same to match, and the two had a quiet competition while Malyka and I counted the guards again. There were fifty on this side of the building alone. I wondered if I could talk myself in without having to use my name. That was a sure way to bring Lectra down on me too soon.

Malyka seemed to guess my idea. ‘You might have a silver tongue, but it’s not that shiny, Dwellin. Your only other choice is waiting with those fools. Maybe you’ll get lucky,’ Malyka sighed. She pointed to the small crowd of people, rich and poor, who lingered outside the main entrance hoping to claim a peek, or even a whiff, of a chosen one. Many held scribbled signs or gifts to give. It was pathetic.

‘Every day, they sit and wait, dawn to dusk. Ever since that new chosen one arrived a while back, their little herd ’as doubled. ’E’s a looker, they say. Problem is, the chosen ones in trainin’ barely show their faces to the public until their big parade and godgear ceremony.’

That sounded just delightful. How nice for Aberan, I thought. ‘You sound like you’re quite enamoured with the chosen ones.’

Malyka shrugged. ‘I’ve got no love for the Venerance, but the prophecies come straight from the Great Watcher. And I tell you: you ever get to see a swordsaint or alchemage up close, you can feel the power emanatin’ from them, I swear. They’re a different breed.’

‘Hmm,’ I murmured. The fight between Orzona and Riveno had still yet to be tarnished in my mind.

‘Where are the kitchens? There must be kitchens. The chosen ones eat, I imagine?’ I growled. ‘Or are they too busy shining rainbows out their arseholes?’

Malyka snorted. ‘At that corner. And they’re also guarded as if the First Chosen ’imself is in there. You ain’t gettin’ in that way unless you’re Venerance or a servant in uniform.’

‘Then it looks like I’ll need to become a kitchen servant, doesn’t it?’

Malyka closed her eyes and muttered in a language I didn’t recognise. ‘Good luck with that, Dwellin. The Academy’s a fucking castle. All the prosecutors and servants live and sleep in there, right alongside the chosen ones. I’ll bet ’alf the cooks in Bashkar fancy a job in the Academy. What’s more respected than feedin’ the chosen ones?’

‘Killing one, maybe’ I muttered to myself, wandering idly and wholeheartedly unsuspiciously along the street to get a better view.

‘What?’ Malyka called after me.

‘Nothing.’

I watched the doorway for what felt like an hour, but nobody came or went beside a withered old Drola trying to sell some dubious fruit. A man came to look at the wares, but the Drola and his cart were chased away within moments and the door slammed.

‘Bad idea, I say,’ Malyka whispered.

‘Watcher’s bollocks.’ Despite thinking of twenty different equally useless ideas – including faking a prophecy and stealing an aircraft, I’ll have you know – I pummelled the roof files with my fist. Little did I know this was the first of many moments when Malyka would tell me no, and it was one of the few times I would listen to her.

‘Fine,’ I gave in, hating myself for it.

‘Told you,’ Malyka said. ‘Big hopes. Bashkar reality.’

‘I can wait,’ I told her, even though I knew that was a blatant lie.

While I huffed and grumbled, I spotted an officious figure wandering up the street in the corner of my eye. The white breastplate and cloak with prison dust at the bottom told me straight away who it was, even before I saw the face. It was none other than Prosecutor Quintessi Highclaw out for an afternoon stroll with a bundle of parchments and scrolls in her arms. See? Always with the paperwork. I wondered if you burned it all whether it would make the Venerance crumble.

‘In that case,’ I said quickly, pushing Malyka down the nearest side street I could find and away from Quintessi’s line of sight. ‘Time to deal with the next item on the list.’

‘Which is?’

‘Lal Do Larasta wanting to make you dead.'

Malyka narrowed her eyes. ‘I didn’t expect you to stay true to your word.’

‘I do when it suits me,’ I said with a smirk. I needed Malyka and Scramp to owe me. I pointed down the street and hurried on. ‘Lead me to him.’

I stole a glance behind me to watch Quintessi walk past without a clue. I had until midnight to show up at the red fountain. I would keep her guessing until then. And myself, too, as I hadn’t yet made my mind up whether I wanted to live in the pocket of a prosecutor. In the gutters of Canarva, a snitch often wound up black-eyed and broken-fingered, if they wound anywhere up at all.

‘I’m three months behind thanks to the Venerance. I’ve got catching up to do,’ I said. ‘Tell me about him.’

Malyka led with Scramp following tentatively. The beast pulled up a hood over his ears to keep the stares at bay. I did the same, and no, it wasn’t to make him feel better. Anonymity was what I wanted. I was still a wanted criminal, after all.

Malyka sucked her teeth. ‘Not much to say about Lal Do Larasta other than he’s an old oaf with a thing for much finer and much younger women. Don’t they always, right? Don’t get me wrong: when I’m getting on in my years, I’ll be looking for the same, I’m sure. But Do Larasta has a problem. He runs all kinds of blackmail and cathouse rackets. Compared to the others I told you about, he’s a middlin’ crook. Rich enough, but hoards it to spend on wine, Tempest sugarnuts and orgies, so I ’ear. Got no ambition and yet wonders why he’s not more powerful than he is. It makes him vicious and cruel. Thinks that’s what it takes to rule the Guttervale.’

‘Don’t they always indeed.’ This Do Larasta fellow sounded far too similar to a certain baron I used to know. I was starting to realise the Realms were full of them. It was almost as if these people all attended the same class on How to be a Bad Person and then copied each other’s answers. It was lazy. Unoriginal, and they deserved to be killed off just for that reason alone.

‘Got any feuds?’

‘Plenty. Besides wanting me dead, I ’eard Larasta owes the Chaos Club big for stealing their customers. There’s a dozen high-ranking Venerance who have been seen in his houses that he blackmails. I swear most of his own men don’t like ’im on account of his slim wages.’

‘Very interesting,’ I muttered as I held back my smile. A fiendish idea was already starting to sprout in my mind.

Malyka gave me a sideways look as we walked. ‘Though I’ve only known you a short time, I’m gettin’ the feeling you’re the sort to do something drastic and impulsive.’

I smirked. If there were ever two daggers named after me, they would be fine names. ‘And what gives you that impression?’

‘Just a gut feeling I have.’

Scramp agreed with a cackle.

Though I played calm, my mind raced. All I could think of was the book of tales, and how I’d read that most of the time, the hero slays the villain. Not captures. Not treats with. Not entertains or understands. Kills. Straight away and no questions asked. The wytch in the Wytch’s Folly died under the swordsaint’s blade. The hungry wolf died beneath the axe of the godly woodsman. The sorceress with the breadcrumbs was burned alive by an alchemage. It was a simple solution and a veiled threat from the Venerance, but there was a lesson there between the veil. Evil was only solved by eradication. Swift and merciless. If that was how the Venerance wanted to play, then so be it.

*

With Malyka as my guide, we finally descended beneath the jumble of Halfstreets and into the Guttervale.

While the views of Bashkar had taken my breath away, to submit willingly to a cliche, the Vale made me choke for an entirely different reason. Smoke and steam and the scent of damp clogged my throat two stairwells before I had even clapped eyes on the city beneath the city.

A gutter the Vale might have been, but it must have been the gutter of a god greater than the Watcher.

Stretching the height of Bashkar’s proudest spire, the Guttervale’s enormous cavern was a borehole through the rock of epic proportions. At its distant end, the Vale was open to a white sky and a sprawling turquoise carpet of ocean spotted with aircraft and white birds. It was, frankly, a mess, but a glorious one. Walkways piled upon gantries that spilled into bridges and ravines of narrow-packed buildings. Towers poked up into the rock as if they tunnelled after the rich. Some spires even hung upside down, their points aimed at the Spiral staircases and snail-like buildings wound around the nine pillars holding up Bashkar. Each pillar must have been wider than a town square, and the web of buildings and washing lines between them must have been a nightmare for the pilots buzzing about the cavern.

There was a roar not just of countless voices, machinery, wagonwheels and ship engines, but of water crashing. As I leaned over the railing, I saw a waterfall spewing from high up in the vale. It cascaded down into black depths between the buildings, lit all kinds of colours by blightlamp and inked glass.

My head snapped to the deeper part of the Guttervale, where a sharp pop and crackle drew my attention. I watched a streak of sparks rise up level with our walkway with a screech, and then explode into a kaleidoscope of colours.

‘What was that?’

‘Blight rockets. New fashion that came off the western ships. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them. Now listen up: all you can see on the north side past the waterfall? That’s Quarrysfall. Each pillar has its own name, but you’ll learn them in time. Down there in the middle of it all is The Dinge. At the back are the Fadings, leading to Turrow and Oldenbore.’

Malyka carved a route that zigzagged through streets of billowing steam and jabbering washer-folk, or alleys where meats and sausages hung in endless rows, or open factories where heat and smoke blasted our faces. Beneath our feet, the streets turned from stone, to plank, to metal tile, and back to stone again.

A broad stairwell coiled behind the curtain of waterfall, misting us until our faces and hands were soaked. Plants tumbled down the wall of the mighty cavern alongside the water. White trees clung to outcrops of stone and metal piping. I don’t know what I had been expecting of the Guttervale besides, well… gutters. But the vale part had been sorely underestimated.

Down where the air grew thick and cold and the light grew distant, blightlamps and lanterns lit the way. A constant night lived in the belly of the Guttervale, always accessible and fated to never experience a dawn. Even the lanterns and glimmers on the roof of the cavern – when they could be seen through the tangle of construction – had the faint look of a starry sky.

Malyka seemed set on darkness, leading us deeper into the back of the Guttervale, where tunnels led into districts that pounded with music or the hammering of metal. Or both. I saw Blighted sprawled in heaps along entire walls. I saw all manner of swindler and pickpocket lurking in alley-mouths. An argument between a cloth merchant and a customer drew eyes. Cutpurses used the distraction to their advantage.

It occurred to me then, in my ever-suspicious mind, that this was all one long con. That Malyka and Scramp still had designs for me. That I had swallowed up their stories and was now headed to a cage. A heat crept through my cheeks. I silently put a few paces more between us, and counted the ways out of this particular gloomy stretch of the Vale. It didn’t help; I lost count within three turns.

Pink and blue light began to shine through the cramped buildings, squeezed between another layer above. We emerged onto a lively canyon of a street that ran in three levels stacked another. The railings were full of leaners and watchers. Taverns spewed the wailings of bards and smells that were utterly foreign and few that were pleasant. Awnings clipped my head as we squeezed through crowds marvelling at tables of trinkets and scrap. I saw a few spreads of uncleaned Augur junk that Riveno would have groaned at. Tasparil squawked loudly at a stall full of caged drakes as if he boasted of his freedom.

Malyka brought me to a halt in front of a building that sat alone from the others, thrusting up into a gap in the dark bore. Half its facade looked like an old Augur building. The rest had been rebuilt with plank and painted stone. Above the building’s sharp roof, a slender rail passed overhead, where unmanned wagons rattled past into unknown parts of the Vale.

‘Dark Harbour,’ I read the sign aloud as I leaned against a nearby wall.

‘Do Larasta thinks ’e’s got a way with words.’

‘Too many people do. What is this, a tavern?’

‘He’d hate you for calling it somethin’ as paltry as a tavern. He likes to call it an alehouse. Used to be the hub of these streets and Turrow until Do Larasta either offended or accidentally poisoned everyone with ’is food.’

I wanted to scowl. Whatever crimes this man was guilty of, that was possibly the worst. And yet there was something about this corner of the twilight of the Guttervale that widened my eyes and held my attention. It was ramshackle, but I wanted it.

‘Now this place is used for his grimy little business and his even grimier parties,’ Malyka was saying when I came back to paying attention.

I pointed at the two figures standing tall outside the doorway. ‘And what about the lumps at the door? They don’t like the sort to just let us in.’

Malyka looked disappointed in me. ‘Is that what you had in mind? Just sashaying in there and saying hello? You really think you’re that much of a slick talker?’

I shrugged. ‘Why not?’

‘I should add stupid to that list.’ Malyka huffed. ‘Luckily for you, I have a better idea.’

I watched Malyka carefully. ‘Do you?’

Before I got an answer, she grabbed me by the arm and began to march me across the street. I almost drew my cleaver there and then to fight her, but in the lanternlight, we’d already been spotted.

‘Look who it is. The bitch with the blades and her beast. And a new friend,’ crowed a deep voice.

‘Catchy,’ Malyka snorted.

‘Do Larasta sent you on a job,’ the other man sniggered. Closer to them, I could hardly tell the difference between them. Except that one was more interested in mining his nose with a finger than doing his job.

‘I know that, idiot.’ Malyka wrenched me about. ‘Found something better, didn’t I?’

‘Boss won’t be pleased to see you back here,’ said the first.

‘We’ll have to see about that. Let me through.’

The doors to the tavern swung inwards, and we found more lumps standing about the entranceway, smoking acrid pipes. Spread before us was a once-lavish and dilapidated tavern. Alehouse, sorry. Hunched over tables were a few suspicious folks with even more suspicious glares. One betrayed Venerance white under his dark cloak. A cleric, by the look of him.

Behind walls of wicker at the rear of the alehouse, we found Lal Do Larasta. The man was currently squeezed into an armchair, which in turn was squeezed behind a table. A selection of stews and a mountain of bread lay before his meaty hands. Standing either side of him were several more minions. One stood near to Do Larasta’s elbow, with eyes half-closed and his shoulders hunched. He looked like an Ashlander from the purple in his gaze and his mop of pale hair.

A beautiful woman sat on a nearby table, also under guard. She must have been only several years older than me, and she did everything she could to avoid Malyka’s twinkling gaze.

‘What are you doing here, Horu’s Daughter?’ Do Larasta asked, slopping stew into his mouth mid-sentence. ‘I sent you and that freak of yours on a job.’

‘Nothin’ there,’ Malyka responded nonchalantly. ‘It was a fake tip, wherever you got it from.’

Do Larasta ripped apart bread as if demonstrating what he planned on doing to Malyka. ‘I should have Gothru here break your face for what you did.’ He shot a dark look at the woman, who was far too interested in examining the rafters to notice.

‘I came with a gift to smooth the troubled waters, Do Larasta. Don’t you worry,’ said Malyka.

‘Who’s the girl?’ Do Larasta asked, pointing a spoon at me.

‘The gift, of course.’

I stared at Malyka sidelong, trying to decide if this was still a ruse. She was either a fine actor or I was waist-deep in shite once more.

Scramp shoved me forwards. At the sight of the cleaver on my hip, a few of Do Larasta’s lackeys woke up and ambled forwards.

Do Larasta put his spoon down long enough to crook a finger towards me. ‘Closer.’

I watched his stare move from my head to my toes and back again.

‘Closer, damn it.’

I did as I was told, keeping my hands empty and open.

‘Wiry thing.’ Do Larasta dipped what looked like a whole loaf into a bowl and dropped half of the stew down his front before it reached his mouth. ‘Where you from, girl?’

‘Canarva,’ I said.

‘Ugh. More northerners. You got a name?’

‘Drastic and impulsive,’ was all I muttered in return, flashing a last look to Malyka and hoping I was right about all of this.

‘What?’ Do Larasta barked. ‘You’re as bad as Gothru. You Ashlanders and your moronic tongue. Enunciate! At least you’re young enough. Is she unspoiled, Malyka?’

Before Malyka could answer that far-too-intrusive question, I scooped a hand under the nearest bowl of stew and threw it in the man’s face. The squeal Do Larasta emitted was delightfully piercing. Before he could recover, or any of his lackeys could even get off their arses, I put my knuckles to the test and slammed the man hard in the jaw. He had a lot of cushion and my wrist complained in pain, but Do Larasta sagged in his chair with soup dribbling across his cheek. Patrons ran for the door, battle guards struggling inwards I took my chance and hoped it would work.

‘Do you like your job?!’ I yelled at the lackeys before they rushed to seize me.

‘Watcher’s arse!’ Do Larasta slurred. ‘My tooth! She knocked out a tooth!’

My volume might have startled the guards, but my question puzzled them.

‘Two teeth, curse you, girl!’

‘Does this lard pay you enough?’ I yelled again, looking at the big Ashlander.’

Do Larasta banged a hand on the table and struggled to get up, but I had the table pushed in with my boot. ‘I pay you what you’re worth, now break her arms!’ he said, spitting blood.

‘You. Ashlander. Gothru. Why do you follow this man?’ I demanded.

‘I…’ Gothru didn’t have a response for me. It looked like he had never even heard the question, never mind thought to answer it. He looked between his comrades. ‘Erm, because he’s in charge?’ he offered me, in an accent so far north of Canarva’s I could barely understand him.

‘What are you playing at, girl! I will—’

I hit Lal Do Larasta again.

‘This cruel sack of a man that whimpers after being beaten by a child?’ I asked as Do Larasta wailed. ‘And who put him in charge? He did.’

The realisation began to dawn.

‘He hardly pays us,’ spoke a man skinnier than I.

‘Yes!’ I pointed at the man. ‘But what you need, my good man, is a sandwich.’

He scratched his chin, confused. ‘Doesn’t let us have food neither.’

‘He doesn’t let us have any of the girls,’ said another.

‘You can pipe down,’ I told that man, and sighed dramatically. ‘But don’t you see? You guard types always make this mistake, following anyone who’ll give you a place to stand and somebody to rough up. And because it’s so easy and comfortable, you carry on until you’re just another body to fill a room. Why do you think you lot are always the first to get killed off and by the dozen, and never the boss who has stirred up the trouble in the first place? Because without you, Do Larasta and his kind are nothing. You have a choice, you know. You can choose not to be just a nameless drone. I’m sure you all have rich backstories if you were given the time to tell them, right? You. You’ve got children, maybe? Family?’

Another fellow raised a hand. ‘Ten.’

‘Ten children…’ I pinched my nose. ‘And what’s Do Larasta done for you and your children?’

The extremely fertile man shrugged, looking sheepish. ‘Spat a grape in my eye last week.’

Grothu spoke again. ‘He got Wee Ratty killed by the Chaos Club,’ he said. At least, that’s what I think the man said. ‘We liked Wee Ratty.’

‘See?’

What I had figured of loyalty in my short time was that there were four ways to grow it. Fear is a fine one. As is cruelty. Shells and riches are second to last, and then there’s belief. Affinity. Dare I say, love. I hadn’t the time for all of that, but I did have riches, and that was a fine first course. What riches, you ask, good reader? Do Larasta’s, of course.

‘So, here’s an idea,’ I suggested, crossing my arms while Do Larasta swung at me madly and ineffectively with a spoon. ‘How about we all take what’s owed to us from Do Larasta? We leave enough to keep Chaos Club off your backs, and then you, me, and my friends included, all treat ourselves to his shells? And afterwards, you follow somebody who’s going to make you richer, not poorer. Somebody who definitely won’t spit any grapes in any eyes.’

Grothu and the others looked around. ‘Who’s that then?’

‘Me.’

‘You?’ asked skinny.

‘Precisely,’ I replied with a beaming grin. ‘I’ll keep the shells flowing, unlike your previous employer.’

Grothu put a hand on the table and shifted it away from Do Larasta with ease. For a heartbeat or two, I expected my gamble to crumble around me, but that was until the Ashlander thumped the man square in the nose and left him slumped on the floor. With a rip of a sleeve, he took a key from around Do Larasta’s forearm and sauntered towards the stairs. The others followed eagerly, each giving Do Larasta a knock or slap as they passed. Even his wife went with them, to see about some shells for her troubles, I assumed.

In their wake, I stood over Do Larasta and smiled.

‘How?’ he snarled through bloody lips. ‘Why?’

‘Because I could,’ I answered. ‘Simple as that. This is what you don’t understand about followers. I reckon you have to give them something to follow. You got too lazy. Too cruel.’

‘You’ll be sorry,’ he said, spitting teeth at me. ‘I have powerful friends in very important places.’

‘No you don’t, Larasta,’ Malyka scoffed. She stood behind me, a dagger in her hand.

‘Go on then, finish it!’ he squealed. ‘Or don’t you have the stones to end what you started, girl?’

All it took was me reaching for my cleaver and Do Larasta started blubbering.

I put him senseless with a kick and looked over my shoulder at Malyka. Scramp hovered at her back. Both watched me closely.

‘Nicely done, Dwellin, I have to say. You got some stones as well as a silver tongue, girl. Drastic and impulsive just like I suspected, but your gamble paid off. Makes me wonder why I didn’t do it myself. You’re playin’ the game now, whether you like it or not,’ Malyka said. ‘You sure you’re only fourteen?’

‘Fifteen,’ I said. A realisation shot through my mind. ‘I’m not sure, but I think today’s my firstday.’

‘Then a happy firstday to you. Looks like your gift is a tavern and your own criminal enterprise.’

‘A lair, you might call it,’ I said, staring around at the red-painted beams and fireplaces with a smile.

‘And some idiot lackeys to go with it, too.’

And that was two items now struck off my list.

‘This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?’ Malyka asked me.

‘You believe in me now? Have I proved myself yet, hmm?’ I asked.

‘I was wondering whether you’d turn out to be another broken promise, but I’ll admit, you’re proving me wrong. But you listen to me: you got Do Larasta off my back and got us paid, but if we’re goin’ to stick around, we won’t be considered one of these idiots, you ’ear?’

Scramp shook his head with a gargle.

I showed my teeth. ‘I could use some help keeping the idiots in line if they stay.’

‘Fine. I don’t want to throw out the title “captain” but I’ll take it.’

Scramp nodded solemnly.

It was difficult to keep the smile off my face, but I still had my questions. ‘Then it looks like you’ll be playing this game with me.’

‘So long as it suits us.’ Malyka grinned. ‘And on that note, I better go see what shells they’ve left. If any.’

I caught Malyka with one foot on the stairs. ‘You weren’t really going to buy your way out by selling me, were you?’ I asked her.

Malyka shrugged. ‘Wasn’t sure myself, at first.’

Left alone in the tavern, I stared down at the senseless Do Larasta. I poked him with a foot, getting a groan from him.

My hand hovered on my blade. It was not a murder, but the tying of a loose end, I told myself. The face of the prosecutor in Catacrone still flashed across my mind. Evil was only solved by eradication. Swift and merciless, I told myself.

As I drew my blade, the oaf managed to spout some garbled words. ‘Got powerful friends,’ he said.

I could have used some of those myself, I pondered. With a tut, I slid my cleaver back into its scabbard and patted Do Larasta on the cheek.

‘We’ll see about that.’

*

I watched Quintessi Highclaw circle the red fountain several times before I emerged from the shadows to approach her. I refused to copy what the other passersby had done and touched the six rings of the Venerance carved into the pedestal.

‘You’re alive,’ Quintessi gasped at the sight of me. ‘I didn’t think that was possible. Everyone thought you were dead.’

‘I’m feeling better than ever, thank you for noticing,’ I said. ‘Though I have to warn you. You’ve got a serious infestation in that prison, Quintessi. You might want to sort that out.’

‘Don’t use my name here,’ she hissed, staring about us warily. Hardly a soul besides some Blighted beggars occupied the small square amidst the Halfstreets. ‘How did you do it? How did you escape?’

I washed my hands in the water. ‘With some luck and those burning herbs of yours. And a lot of running, as always.’

Quintessi looked me up and down as if I were lying, but the irrefutable proof was living and breathing in front of her. ‘Then you’ve agreed to my terms, I take it? Information for continued freedom?’

I had. It had taken me the whole day, but I’d decided it was more useful than dangerous to have a prosecutor close at hand, especially one with such ambition. It was another kind of lackey. A spy that didn’t know she was a spy.

‘If you must be so businesslike about it, then fine. But I have something to add,’ I said.

The Esfer scowled, black feathers bunching around her forehead. ‘And what is that?’

‘I don’t just want freedom, I want to be left alone. Immunity, I think you call it.’

‘You what?’

‘You heard me. I want to be left to my own devices. You want gossip from the city beneath – fine – but I get to do what I please. It’s been a prosperous day, and I’ve found some interests in the Guttervale I’d like to pursue. I don’t want the Venerance interfering.’

‘I couldn’t possibly guarantee that—’

‘Then no deal,’ I said, beginning to walk away. ‘Shame, with your child and all.’

‘What kind of interests?’ Quintessi snapped at me. ‘The criminal and sinful kind, I take it?’

I shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Early days yet.’

Quintessi hissed. ‘I could arrest you right here and now. Save myself the trouble.’

I patted my cleaver, taking a step backwards. It had been a good day and I was feeling powerful. ‘Then come and try, Prosecutor.’

For a moment, Quintessi looked as though she would draw on me, but in the end she kicked at the fountain. ‘I can’t promise anything,’ she seethed. ‘But I will try.’

‘Good. Then you better come with me.’

With a wary hand on her blade, she followed me into a nearby alley where, in a deep doorway, I had stashed my new friend Lal Do Larasta. There was rope around his wrists and neck. He had puffed slits for eyes and he whistled through his missing teeth as we stared at him. I won’t tell you the difficulty I had getting him up to the Halfstreets.

‘Who in the nether is this?’ Quintessi yelped.

‘Meet Lal Do Larasta, a middling crook from Turrow. He has powerful friends, or so he says, and I hear several of them are Venerance clerics.’

Quintessi looked stressed. She ran a hand through her feathers, looking in every which way along the alley.

‘This is what you wanted, right?’ I asked.

‘I wanted information.’

‘Then make him talk! That’s what you Venerance types are good at.’

‘I—’

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tavern to get back to.’

Quintessi watched me go. I didn’t know if Esfer sweated, but it looked like she was trying. ‘Next week. When the two moons are full,’ she called after me.

The shadows of the Halfstreets enveloped me, hiding my satisfied smile. What a fine firstday after all.