Twenty One: A Talk

Arlen had seen more life in corpses than in Jordan Haverford at that moment.

The boy hadn't bothered changing out of his Unspoken cloak after arriving and Arlen hadn't pushed it. He suspected that anything he suggested doing would meet resistance, so he sat with his apprentice at the table and slowly worked his way down the large bottle of ale Usk had procured for him in the absence of nettle wine.

"Is it weird," Haverford said suddenly, the first thing he'd said that evening that wasn't a one-word answer to a direct question, "that even after almost getting killed by a Listener twice, I find almost being run through by a person harder to deal with?"

Arlen sucked his teeth. "Not gonna lie, kid, that's definitely strange."

"It's probably because it was Harkenn's guard." Jordan picked at something on the table and flicked it away. "If it had been a Devil I don't think I'd have been as surprised."

Arlen shrugged. "You're probably right there. Though if that were to happen, which it won't, you tell me and I'll return the favour."

Despite not seeing Haverford's face, Arlen got the feeling that he hadn't helped matters. He sighed, took another long drink. Jordan had crept in during the early evening, looking more reluctant than ever to be there, to give his report on the job. Arlen had already had an account from Usk, and got the feeling when comparing the two that Haverford was better at hiding his fears than Arlen had given him credit for. The job could never have worked without Usk supervising the boy, though, and a dark mood lowered as he thought about how much further along he might be if only Arlen was teaching him, instead of a cobbled-together rota that required the boy to be out for whole nights at a time.

"Things will change when you get back," he said. "I'm going to find a way of teaching you myself, for one." He ignored the doubtful glance he knew he got from the depths of the cowl. "And we're going to work on the stuff those other clots seem to have missed out. Boy, I've heard through one particular source that Darin knew about this from you."

He lugged his false leg over the edge of the chair, and Haverford flinched as it hit the floor, as good as any verbal admission.

"Of course he was going to find out eventually," he continued, keeping his tone light and conversational, but as far as Haverford seemed concerned he might as well have been yelling. "But I would have preferred it on my terms. It also endangered him, since the person who happened to overhear you was Silas. Kid, you know the little shit's been following you for weeks. What made you think he'd make an exception for that conversation?"

Jordan said nothing.

"It's taken me a little while to get to this, since events somewhat overtook. However." He readjusted himself as his stump began to ache. "If this happens again, there'll be more than just a talk. If you had done this to Marick, he would have had you killed for it. Do you get me?"

A nod.

Arlen considered the boy for a moment, and judged that the point had been sufficiently made. If it hadn't, there were always harsher options. He'd hoped not to have to use them, since Haverford was distant enough as it was; but a nice kid with a rebellious streak could get themselves into a lot of trouble when it came to the Devils and the last thing Arlen needed was to lose his apprentice as well as his leg. Marick would have little reason to keep him around then, at least not in the upper ranks, and demotion was death within the guild.

He also, he grudgingly supposed, liked the boy. Just a little bit. The rebellious streak just needed to work more in his favour and he'd have few complaints.

"How long do you think you'll be away?" he asked. For however long Haverford was away, Arlen was stuck mentoring Silas in exchange for pretending to be Jordan and keeping his silence. It was far too early to tell if the ruse had even worked as well as he hoped, but a deal was a deal and the idea was still making him feel a little sick.

"A couple of months, probably," Jordan muttered. "Yddris said it takes a couple of weeks to get there even with a wagon. Stay a month or two. Come back again."

Arlen nodded slowly. He could cope with a couple of months. It gave him plenty of time to get things back on track, without having to organise the boy's training in the meantime. How Marick would feel about that length of time was hard to say, but if the guild leader wanted to try and wrestle the boy off Yddris he was welcome to try it on his own time. Arlen, for one, could do without the hassle, and made a point of having as little to do with that particular Unspoken as humanly possible. He'd already come too close by getting Haverford to leak the plan to him. Besides, he was pretty certain that if he stopped the trip from happening, he'd end up with an apprentice who was cracked in the head.

"You've probably got stuff to prepare for," he said, when it became clear that Haverford was not going to say anything further unless asked. "Have you still got the hunting knife?" Jordan immediately began fumbling with his belt, but paused when Arlen added, "I want you to keep it."

"I don't need it."

"You don't know that." Arlen smirked. "Certainly not yet, but the Barrens are no gentle stroll. You'd do better to have more weapons than that, but I suspect you won't take them from me. There's no such thing as too many weapons."

"What's in the Barrens?"

"Not much, as the name would suggest. Lots of demons, but you don't need my help with those. The traveller roads, though - usually infested with bandits and the occasional marauding Varthian. Don't judge all of them by the Varthians you've met in the city, some of them make Usk look domesticated. But everyone reacts pretty much the same way to being stabbed."

"Yddris might have mentioned bandits."

"I bet he did. They're fucking pests."

"Aren't you technically...?"

"Don't insult me. The only thing we have in common is that what we do is illegal. Running at a wagon flailing blades around doesn't take very much skill."

"They could sneak up at night."

"With demons around? No way, kid. You're about as safe as it gets from people at night."

"Not quite camping as I remember it," Jordan muttered. "You might get bitten a few times, or fall over a tree when you go to piss at night, but that's about it."

"Bitten by...?"

"Midges. Tiny biting bugs."

Arlen burst out laughing. "Oh, fuck me, no wonder you're having a hard time. Fucking bugs. That's class, that is."

Jordan seemed to thaw out a little, and even managed a strained chuckle. "They were annoying at the time, but I've definitely got a bit of perspective on it now."

"Get out of here," Arlen said, still laughing. He was sure all his time cooped up inside had started working holes into his brain to find something so ridiculous so funny, but it was welcome. "Go to your magical village, take as many blades as you can carry, and don't fall over any trees. Got it? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Jordan stood up. "That's a very short list."

"It's almost non-existent." Arlen shrugged. "Won't find any complaints here if you practice while you're away."

"Yeah right. Yddris would tie my ankles to a tree and leave me there."

"Only if you got caught."

"I would."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"You're in a good mood," Usk grunted, hauling himself in through the window. "Did something happen?" He turned and spotted Jordan, who Arlen was certain would have taken that moment to escape if Usk hadn't been standing in front of the only way out. "You going?"

Jordan nodded. It seemed the conversation was doomed to be short-lived.

"Raziel wanted you to take a couple of these for the Barrens crossing," Usk said. He held out two vials of belladonna. "It'll stun a demon, too, if you can get it to stay still long enough. One with a nose, mind." Usk snorted. "Ain't going to get very far using it on a Death."

"I've already got two of those."

"Well, now you have four, and be grateful I convinced him not to make you any shit bombs."

"Thanks." Jordan took the vials like Usk had handed him the shit anyway, and stashed them in a pocket. He turned to leave, but had only taken one step towards the window when he said abruptly, "Did I kill anyone?"

Usk paused, halfway through rolling a cigarette at the table. Despite his cloak, Haverford was visibly trembling when he turned to face them again, arms crossed tight against his chest. Arlen sighed.

"No, kid." When Jordan stance remained distinctly dubious, he said, "Usk?"

"You bloodied a couple up." Usk finished rolling one cigarette and handed it to Arlen. "And I think I saw you deal out a couple of nasty burns. But the demons did more damage than any of us did."

"Demons?"

"You didn't tell him?" Usk asked Arlen, who scowled. He hadn't been planning to mention it at all. The boy had seemed shaken up enough, and while he wasn't a fan of sparing feelings, he also wasn't a fan of teaching broken goods. Haverford was standing at an edge, and no tough approach was going to help. For once, he was content to let the Unspoken deal with that fallout.

"A Firebull was attracted by the blaze. A pack of wights was drawn up by the noise. Demons don't pick sides."

"I went back," Usk said, "to finish off the plan. Get Raz and Akiva off the hook, make the right noises around Gelert. Any fighting that was still going ended pretty sharp when those things turned up. Your tutor dispatched all five by himself." Grudging respect entered Usk's voice. "Whatever you think of him personally, that man knows what he's doing."

Arlen's scowl deepened. It was impressive, and it was impossible not to feel some degree of respect for it, but it didn't change the fact that Yddris was an annoying obstacle who knew way more than was good for him. And still Marick wasn't doing anything about it.

"You report straight to me when you get back," Arlen said. Jordan paused in his slow shuffle back towards the window, and nodded tightly. "Same night. I won't make you run any jobs, but I want a report."

"Sure. See you."

And like that, Haverford was gone. Arlen got up and hobbled to the window, watching the cloaked figure disappear at a fast clip into the gloom. It worried him, even if it didn't surprise him, that Haverford was so eager to get away. He had leverage over the boy, but that was it. Even after months, that was all they had – there was no loyalty there, no sense of duty. Nothing Arlen did made a dent in the boy's reluctance to be there or his terror of what needed to be done. Perhaps things would be different when he got back, but Arlen wouldn't hope for it; after all, 'different' could as easily mean it got worse rather than better.

"Not enough incentives," Usk grunted, as if reading Arlen's thoughts. After all the time he'd been reliant on the Varthian, Usk's ability to read his moods and predict his ideas had become worse, a trend Arlen didn't welcome. "He just thinks of us as a bunch of thugs and criminals he's being forced to spend time with."

"How does one fix that," Arlen said through gritted teeth, hobbling over to the fire, "when that's exactly what's happening?"

"Fair point."

"There's soft and then there's too soft." Arlen tamped down the fire with the end of his stick. Sparks jumped from the grate and winked in the air before vanishing. "If he had been from here to start with, I'm certain he'd be coming round to it by now. Hate to say it, but that's exactly how it happened with Silas."

"The Barrens isn't an easy trip. He might come back a little tougher."

"I'm hoping he will." Arlen frowned. "If he gave me more information than the occasional grunt I'd have more ideas on how to get him engaged. What do otherworld kids even like?" He glanced at Usk. "There are two Unspoken in that house with him, aren't there? Who's the second one?"

"I believe that might be Yddris's previous apprentice."

"Do you know if he's going on this trip?"

"No clue." Usk settled lower in his chair, eyes narrowed. "You've got that look."

"I want you to break into the boy's room once he leaves. Bring me back anything you can find that might be helpful. He won't take everything with him, the trip's too long not to pack light." Usk's shoulders slumped at that in apparent relief. "Why? What did you think I was going to say?"

"Just thought for one awful minute you were going to involve the sister. He'd never trust you if you did."

Arlen paused. He'd forgotten about the sister. Usk waved a way another cloud of blackweed, saw Arlen's face, and groaned. "Arl, you can't. You'll lose him completely. The only reason he did this at all was to keep her out of it."

"We could still keep her out of it," Arlen said. "Doesn't mean we can't have a poke around."

"With who? Who of us would she ever talk to about her Unspoken brother?"

"Ashe might do it for the right price."

"Ashe? Ashe's cracked. And Gelert would have to agree to it. Then you'd have to convince Ashe not to repeat everything she learned about your apprentice to Gelert."

Arlen scowled. It would take some ironing out, but he had a few months. Usk looked on the verge of flat refusal, however, so he made himself look casual, unconcerned, even as the idea continued to scratch at the inside of his skull. "Just an idea. I'd still like his stuff, though. We made no agreements on stuff."

"I'll do that," Usk muttered. "Least that makes some fucking sense."

Arlen was still chewing it over in the carriage on the way over to the beer hall a few hours later. His invitation was mostly ceremonial, since he hadn't been at the job. He took it as an encouraging sign that he hadn't yet fallen out of use or favour, but it was still hard to ignore the resentment simmering in his chest. He should have been there. He should have been in the room when Marick made the decision to do it, should have been able to advise, might have been able to alter the course of things. Going against the leader outright was suicidal, and he still wondered why he'd really done it. Usk had called it a charitable streak, but he was sure that wasn't it. If he had one of those he'd have picked another profession.

A part of him he refused to acknowledge wondered if Marick had found him out, and it wasn't so much an invitation as a condemnation. He knew, though, if he went in expecting that, his body language would give him away whether the Devil leader knew or not. Best to act like he had no knowledge whatsoever of even the mere possibility.

Gelert had arrived first, which wasn't a surprise but still rankled. Arlen felt a shiver of hatred. If Arlen was second in rank, then Gelert was the man who would take his spot if things fell apart, and he knew it. They had never got along well; in the guild takeover, Gelert had switched sides like it was going out of fashion, planting himself beside the candidate who was winning right up until they weren't anymore. Arlen had very little respect for it, even if it wasn't exactly a surprising trait in a criminal.

Marick sat on his desk, face calm aside from the slight pinch of impatience in one corner of his mouth. It was all Arlen could do not to flinch when he saw it, and he could tell from Gelert's smirk that it had not gone unnoticed there, either.

So it begins.

Arlen nodded a greeting, not trusting himself to speak, and settled himself on Marick's other side with as much dignity as he could muster. There were no chairs in the room and his stump was particularly painful that day, but he would fall down dead before asking for one.

"I hear your apprentice is taking a trip," Marick said, gaze calculating. "How long will it last?"

"He'll be back for the Light Fayre, sir." He fucking better be.

"Bit of a gap, is it not?"

"It's a requirement of his training in other fields. If I had a choice in it, I'd rather he didn't go." He readjusted his grip on his walking stick. It wasn't strictly true; Arlen did need the time to think of a new approach, but he wasn't about to admit it to his employer while in his precarious position and after fighting so hard for Haverford's apprenticeship, and he certainly wasn't going to admit it in front of Gelert.

"I see." Marick drummed his fingers on the table. "I assume you have both collected reports from your group."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me, then, what you think went wrong."

"Someone must have leaked the plan," Gelert said immediately. "Harkenn had warning. We were ambushed."

"It did seem suspicious," Arlen agreed. "Two units of guard were prepared for the event. It wasn't a disorganised attack."

"Any ideas who might have leaked it? Anyone in your groups been acting suspect?"

Arlen met Marick's eye as it fixed on him. "My apprentice was with me from the meeting up until the execution, sir."

"Do you have any witnesses?"

"Usk will testify, as would anyone who passed under my window that evening. I was low on kindling so the boy set the fire."

"He hides his face," Gelert said. "It would be easy to lie about that."

"Aside from the small fact that he is the only Gifted person in this entire guild, you mean?" Arlen asked coldly. "Yes, he covers up, but he's probably more obvious than anyone else in the Devils. Unless you know someone that I'm not aware of who can set a green fire, Gelert."

"Enough," Marick said on a sigh. "Night take me, you can't have a civil conversation this once? This is a problem we can deal with at a later date. One warehouse still burned and another was severely damaged. I believe the message has been sent, and we have plenty of our own stocks now to last the rest of the season."

Arlen kept his face neutral even as suspicion crept in at the corners of his mind. Marick was a perfectionist; the job had not got the desired results, and yet he was calm and measured. The leak could be dealt with 'later'. Misgivings soured his gut. There was only one thing Arlen could think of that might mean the Devil leader wasn't upset that the plan had gone wrong, and that was because he had a back-up...or that that plan had not been the end goal.

"Arlen," Marick said, tugging open a drawer in the desk and disrupting his darkening thoughts. "I need you to do something for me."