Eleven: A Room

"You going to stare out this window all day?" Usk's head appeared below the sill, yellow eyes glinting through the dim light. Arlen shunted his chair back to make room for the brute to clamber in.

"No," Arlen muttered, even though it had been the sum of his day so far. "Just thinking."

He hadn't been doing a huge amount of that, either, but the truth was none of Usk's business. He watched as Usk unloaded food onto the table, chewing harshly on the inside of his cheek to suppress a sudden lurch of resentment. He levered himself up on his stick and began pacing, to give the restlessness somewhere to go and to stop him using it to beat his companion around the head. He glowered as Usk glanced at him.

"I'm not moping," he snapped, which Usk had accused him of that morning and was clearly preparing to do so again. If Arlen had his other leg still he was sure the Varthian wouldn't have become so bold in making comments.

"Sure you aren't." Usk tore off the end of a large loaf that he'd just unpacked and took a bite. "Have you figured out how you're going to do it?"

"Gonna have to go like this, aren't I?" Arlen muttered, anger gone as quickly as it had surged. "Hope they're not looking closely enough."

Even as he said it, he knew Darin would notice the moment he stepped through the door. The bastard was too sharp-eyed to miss it – not that anyone needed to be particularly sharp, he thought, disgruntled - and he'd be looking for the reason why Arlen hadn't been to Wick Row in person for so many weeks. Even with oiling, the leg made too much noise to avoid drawing attention. Arlen just couldn't bear the 'I told you so' look he would have plastered all over his face.

He dragged his chair back over to the table and picked through what Usk had brought back. To his intense relief, there were parsnips and carrots instead of potatoes – a welcome break from potato soup and a new food to get thoroughly sick of.

"What's this?" he asked, untying the string around a damp, lumpy package in the middle of the table. The wax paper fell open, revealing two black and silver striped fish. "Oh, Nict's balls. Where'd you get these?"

"Caught 'em," Usk said. "Spotted them flashing in the reservoir and nabbed a couple 'fore they reached the fishing waters. First of the season, I'm thinking. Haven't seen any in the markets."

"What did you catch them with? Your hands?" Arlen asked, then realised it was a stupid question. Usk was Varthian; of course he'd caught them with his hands.

"Pretty sluggish, to be fair. Water's still half-frozen."

Arlen pursed his lips, staring at the first meal that wasn't root vegetables he'd seen in weeks. Once fish stocks got into the river and the merchants cottoned on he would probably not eat it again for another year, but he'd never seen that as a good reason to put things off. "You hungry now?"

"I would be sorely offended if you didn't cook them straight away," Usk said, grinning. Arlen shook his head, turning away to build up the fire so the brute didn't see him grinning back.

"Have you heard anything else about this store-burning plan?" he asked, which succeeded in bringing his mood back down. He didn't like the silence coming from the beer hall, and a small part of him didn't trust that Marick wasn't keeping him in the dark about something. He had done it before, and that was before Arlen was injured, back when he could go and get information for himself.

"Not in any meetings I've been in," Usk grunted, rolling a blackweed cigarette for both of them as Arlen stoked the fire. "Mind, he knows I'll pass anything I hear onto you."

Arlen grunted, unconvinced. There was one thing you could always rely on with a Devil, and that was that you could never rely on them. Usk could be playing him like an instrument and he'd have very few ways of finding out – best to assume that everyone was trying to swindle you from the start. It was a policy that had got Arlen this far and one he intended to stick by.

But there was an equal chance that it was Marick who was playing the games, and that was even more concerning. Usk at least didn't have the entire guild under his thumb.

"Jes keeps asking when he's getting to teach the boy again," Usk said. The fish now sizzled quietly over the fire, but Arlen looked up sharply from massaging his growling stomach.

"Why?"

"The lads like 'im," Usk said. "You picked a good one, Arl."

"The lads like him," Arlen ground out. "And by lads, you mean...."

"The crew, you know," Usk waved a hand, "Akiva, Jes, Raziel. Our lot. Don't fucking glare at me like that, not a single one of us is trying to poach that kid off you."

"You know that for a fact, do you?"

"Come on, Arl," Usk groaned. "I know you think the whole world's out to kill you, but if any of us had designs on finishing you, there've been plenty of chances recently that nobody took. You're still here, and the boy's still yours. Now cook that fish and quit spouting shit."

Arlen scowled, using an unburnt piece of kindling to flip the fish over. The smell of smoke and sizzling filled the room, purging some of its staleness, which had been building to an oppressive fug with the window so often covered over. Usk had a point – Arlen had been a sitting duck for any assassination attempts for a long time now – but someone wouldn't need or even necessarily want him dead to steal his apprentice. They just had to be persuasive, and the Devils could be very persuasive.

"You're on for this week," he muttered. He poked at the fish until juices welled up in the scores on their sides. "Akiva and Raziel have him next week. I haven't planned beyond that, if Jes has something in mind."

"I'll pass it on." Usk still sounded disgruntled.

"I'm hoping to take him out myself soon," Arlen continued. "But I can't be relying on a dark-damned carriage the whole time."

"It's healing," Usk said, as if that answered everything. Arlen resisted the urge to throw the meat prong at him, and instead turned it to pulling the fish off the fire and onto a board. He knew it was healing. It just wasn't healing fast enough, and he had no idea how much of his previous capability would be available to him. Some of it would be lost for good. Other things he would have to build back – most of it, if he was being realistic. Even walking was proving more of a challenge than he'd anticipated. And he was hardly the type to be able to stroll into a physician's office for advice – not unless he wanted to get arrested.

"What've you got there?"

Arlen whirled, hand flying to the hunting knife at his belt. He would never admit it, but he silently thanked Nict that Usk was in, because every visit from Silas got more unsettling.

The boy jumped inside without invitation. Far from the small, pale acolyte Arlen had once reluctantly mentored, Silas's time in the dead quarter had given him several inches in height and some lean muscle, though he was still young enough to look gawky with it. He had taken to wearing all black, which made his pale skin and hair stand out all the more.

"I told you not to come back here," Arlen said. He put the fish down on the table and stabbed a knife through his to stop Silas trying anything. The boy was eyeing the food hungrily.

"He's not here, is he?" Silas sniffed and looked around with exaggerated care. "Nope. Don't see him."

"My apprentice is not the only reason I told you to stay away," Arlen said through gritted teeth. "It's also because you're an insufferable shit who's no longer my problem. Though while we're on the topic, watching people sleep is fucking creepy even for a Devil."

Silas pursed his lips. "Feedback noted. Can I have some of that?"

"No. Get lost."

Silas's expression finally cracked into a scowl. "Where'd you even get it from? Even Marick doesn't have fish in yet."

"Usk caught it," Arlen said, pulling his dagger out and twisting some of the flesh from the bones with his fingers. It was sweet and warm, and the best thing he'd eaten in weeks. "What do you actually want, kid?"

Silas' chin jerked up, and a small, self-satisfied smile replaced his jealous scowl. "I wanted to warn you."

This was exactly the kind of dramatic announcement Arlen had come to expect from Silas, even if he was just delivering messages, so it took all his effort not to roll his eyes as he gestured for the boy to continue.

"Your apprentice isn't as trustworthy as you think he is."

Arlen paused mid-chew at the unexpected direction. "I don't consider anyone trustworthy. But I'm assuming you're talking specifics."

"I overheard him telling some guy in a courtyard about your leg."

Arlen closed his eyes. Night take the boy.

The guy in question was undoubtedly Darin, and there were two issues brought to light by this revelation – the first that the boy had a hard time keeping his trap shut, and the second that he had a hard time spilling his guts safely if he really couldn't help himself.

"Thanks for letting me know," Arlen said, digging back into his fish. "Do you...know who he was talking to?"

Silas shook his head, and Arlen searched his face for any sign he was lying. Darin's identity, he was sure, was something the boy would hold over him if he had worked it out. By the looks of it, however, he had heard something he thought might nail Jordan and not stayed for the rest. He allowed himself a deep breath. Amateur.

Both Usk and Silas were staring at him like they expected an explosion – Silas with ill-concealed glee, and Usk with caution. When he didn't live up to expectation, Usk sagged with visible relief and Silas looked almost offended. Arlen cocked a brow at him. "Was that all?"

"You aren't...going to punish him? Or...I don't know..."

Arlen forced out a derisive laugh. "What exactly were you expecting? For me to drop him and take you on in a blink? This isn't a big deal. Fuck off, kid."

"You'll regret choosing him," Silas muttered, still looking disappointed. He lingered for a moment, but scowled and turned away at Arlen's impatient gesture.

"Not holding my breath." He watched Silas go, and waited to hear the crates below go quiet before he said, "We need a metal sheet for that fucking window."

Usk finally dug into his own fish. "What are you going to do?"

"He's lucky," Arlen snapped. "That kid should count his blessings that he took an unpleasant job off my hands with his timing, and twice over that that snot didn't bother to find out who he was talking to. Nict's balls, I need to be teaching him myself. He should not be flapping his gums if he's not absolutely fucking certain there's no one listening. What's Jes been teaching him?"

"Field skills. Lockpicking, scouting, that kind of thing."

"Not keeping your fucking trap shut, then."

Usk rolled his huge shoulders in a shrug. "I suppose he assumed that was fairly instinctive. I understand you're pissed, Arl, but you're trying to drive some hard stuff into a soft kid."

Arlen grimaced. "Your Common is excellent, Usk, but the subtleties still go horrifically far over your head." The brute's face scrunched in confusion, and Arlen left him to figure it out as he picked the bones of his fish clean. "But you're right, he's too nice. Something needs to be done about it before he leaks something more important to someone more dangerous and gets himself thrown in the river with his throat cut. And it'll be my fault if he does." And Yddris will come after me like a Hound of the dark-damned Pit.

"He seems to be keeping downwind of the Unspoken guild," Usk said. "He's not hopeless."

"They probably haven't cooked up a convincing enough guilt trip yet," Arlen muttered, scowling at his false leg. He wouldn't be dealing with any of this if it wasn't for the dark-damned leg. Haverford could have been learning everything from him from the very start.

"You want me to get him over here earlier than planned?" Usk asked. "You think he'll leak anything else?"

Arlen thought for a moment. He wouldn't say he knew the boy well – another thing he could thank this accursed leg for – but he did know Darin, and knew the kinds of things he might have said to convince a kid like Haverford to help him out.

"No," he said finally, "no, we'll go with the original plan. I'll deal with it then. If Silas thinks it's a big deal, he'll go elsewhere with it, so I don't want to make any strange moves."

"Makes sense." Usk glanced at the window. "He ain't half a pain in the arse."

"Seconded," Arlen muttered, then got up. "I haven't figured out how to get by without a carriage yet, though, so I'm going to need one."

"Where you off to?"

Arlen grimaced. "Darin's. Might as well get it over with."

Putting it off sounded much more appealing when he reached Wick Row. Despite the annoying implications, Haverford had saved him a job he hadn't wanted to do, but the familiar loathing still boiled up as he got down from the carriage step, dragging his metal foot after him with the help of his cane. There would be no getting past the neighbours without making noise, so he drew his hood up and covered his mouth with his scarf. He told the carriage driver to wait around the corner, took a deep breath, and hobbled forward.

All the time inside had weakened his nerve, he was certain of it. An unfamiliar nervousness touched the edges of his mind as he limped down the street, and he was sure he had never balked at unpleasant tasks like this before. He wasn't squeamish about death, nor had he ever allowed Darin to shame him for his choices, and yet when he reached house thirty-three his gut had turned to lead.

He knocked. There was a short silence inside, even though Arlen could see a shadow moving behind the curtain.

Darin opened the door slowly, pale eyes narrowed, and stepped aside to let him in without a word. Biting down hard on his tongue to crush the shame welling inside him, Arlen limped inside. It was hard not to flinch at the loud knock his false foot made on the floorboards with every step. He had become used to it at home, but somehow these unfamiliar boards made it echo louder.

He pushed down his hood. The tin bath was empty and leaning against the wall, and the fire roared high. In the corner there was a pile of black cloth, and the place had the smell of death on it.

"Physician's been," Darin finally said, following his gaze. "Says it's a matter of days. I'd say you're just in time."

Standing outside in a frigid mountain wind couldn't have chilled faster than Darin's tone.

"You could have sent a message," Arlen muttered, dragging his eyes from the funeral cloths. "Earlier."

"You could have come," Darin replied. "I kept hoping you would show in person, so that I didn't have to tell you through one of your lackeys. That apprentice you've strong-armed into an agreement was the closest to a compromise I could think of."

Arlen glowered at him. "I didn't come here to explain myself to you."

"You would have happily died before admitting it, wouldn't you?" Darin hissed, composure shattering. "I don't know why I bothered making any consideration for you, when all I'd have got was a courtesy notice from that Varthian brute if the wound had killed you."

"You would still have got your rent money," Arlen growled. Darin scoffed.

"That's all you have to say? Mother dying, father dead, closest thing to a sibling I ever had skewered by a crossbow, and you think what I'm most concerned about is the fucking rent?"

"If having a roof over your head isn't a primary concern, I'd say you have some priorities to consider," Arlen snarled. "Sibling, my arse. If I was on fire and you held the last water in Nictaven, you'd wash your fucking socks in it."

"I think you're a disgusting scumbag, Arlen, but that's demonshit."

They glared at each other, both breathing hard. Darin was the one to break the gaze, moving to the fire and placing the kettle on the spit.

"Go on in," he mumbled without turning. "She's been asking after you all day."

Arlen eyed the closed door in the corner of the room. He hadn't been inside for years.

It was pitch black inside, and smelled sweet and stale. Arlen had been to many deathbeds, and sensed immediately that things were coming to a close. A rustle sounded in the gloom when the door closed behind him. It was oppressively warm.

"Is he here yet?" A very small tremulous voice spoke nearby. Arlen's breath caught.

"I'm here, Ma," he muttered. A sharp, rattling breath followed.

"Arlen?" she whispered, almost soundless. "Come closer."

The hollow clank of his false leg made him wince in the silence, and drew a gasp of surprise from her.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Might be a bit loud."

"What happened?"

His knees hit the edge of a bed and he bent down, feeling forward with one hand. The hand that grasped his in turn was all bones, thin and horribly fragile. It was such a shock that it took him a minute to find words.

"I had an accident, Ma, that's all."

"Come closer."

He let go of her hand and felt across the blankets so he didn't sit on top of her. The figure under the covers was so small he almost mistook it for a ruck in the material, and as he lowered himself down with the help of his cane his muscles shook with the effort of not falling too hard. As soon as he sat, her hands found his again.

"What accident?" she croaked. "Tell me."

A shaking hand found his face. Arlen's breath caught in surprise, and he covered it with a cough. "I, er...fell and damaged my leg on a crossbeam bolt. It got the rot." He hoped Darin had kept up the ruse that he was a carpenter, and that was why he was never home. Otherwise this was going to leave him in a situation. "It had to go."

"Oh, miká," she sighed, slipping into her childhood tongue as her thumb stroked his cheek. "You need to be more careful."

"I try, ma," he muttered, suddenly itching to leave. There were many reasons he came back here as little as possible, and some of them, it seemed, he'd forgotten in the intervening time.

"How is your eye?" she asked. "Does it still pain you?"

"No." Not for nigh-on fifteen years. But he kept his mouth shut. She'd been starting to lose track of time long before she was confined to bed. The last time he had seen her, a few years back, she had mistaken Darin for his father.

"Did you fetch in the milk today?"

He swallowed. The hand clutching his was terribly frail. "Yes, ma."

"Tell your father the cow needs to be in tonight. I think there's a storm coming."

"I will, ma."

"And look out for your brother now, won't you?" Her voice grew fainter she turned on the pillow. "No more taking him out on the scrap heaps. The other boys will tease him." The hand convulsed. "You've got to look after him when I can't, miká."

He left her when light snores began to echo in the tiny room, wincing at each step and pausing to make sure he hadn't woken her. Darin sat by the fire polishing his boots, and looked up as Arlen eased the door shut.

"Well?"

"She was twenty years behind for most of that," Arlen muttered.

"Better than usual," Darin replied, going back to scrubbing, "Most of the time it's forty."

Arlen stared for a moment. Soft, the voice in his head berated him, too much time holed up indoors. You're soft.

"I'll come again next eighthday," he said gruffly. "Unless I hear from you. Here's your rent."

He dropped a pouch of money on the small table at Darin's elbow.

"It's not due."

"Just fucking take it."

He slammed the door on Darin's response.