Sixty One: Pawns

I feel just as stupid as I expected to.

Arlen straightened up with some difficulty and looked around the small graveyard. The castle loomed overhead, silhouetted against the rising light. He was alone - Usk lingered with the wagon behind the chapel - and he was glad no one had witnessed him here. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for, and hated even more the idea that Darin had managed to prick him into feeling bad about not doing it.

He walked away from the grave, angrier than when he arrived. The dirt over Ana Blackheart had turned flat and compact in the rains and begun to sprout. Soon only the stone marker would be evidence that she was there. Except she isn't, he reminded himself, scowling. She was dead, had been dead for weeks now. Her mind had left her years ago. What difference would it make to her if he came and stood in front of her stone marker every now and again? He'd had no revelations while doing so. He felt far from comforted. The whole exercise had been a waste of time.

"Done?" Usk grunted. He reappeared from behind the news poster he'd plucked off the chapel noticeboard, folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Darin can't complain anymore," Arlen said. He hooked himself back into the wagon bed and sat down with a groan. "Don't know why I bothered. It's not like I can talk to her. Or make up for not visiting while she was alive, which I think Darin is hoping for somehow."

"Maybe he just does not want to be the only one who remembers her as she was."

Arlen glowered at the Varthian out of the corner of his good eye. "Sometimes you make me regret telling you things."

The brute chuckled and got the wagon rolling by way of an answer. Arlen settled back on the bench, bracing his false leg against the opposite side. His hand drifted to his belt where the two witch-man blades now resided. He hadn't called Haverford back in the couple of days since he'd returned, as he wanted to puzzle out what the boy had meant by it first. Was it showing willing, or defiance? It was impossible to know without seeing the kid's face. Certainly he had been angry enough to make it an act of defiance, but if it was then Arlen was having a hard time deciphering the intention. Yet if he interpreted it as willingness, that just didn't make sense. The boy had come to pick a fight over Arlen's impromptu visit to Yddris's house, that much was clear. It seemed a big leap from that to finally conceding to his place with the Devils.

Not that Arlen was entirely certain of his own position. Haverford's return had been a relief. Marick had made no mention of any overthrow rumours, not even in the guild meeting a few days prior. Granted, he had also not requested a private audience with Arlen. The man had seemed distracted, had left the hall quickly after warning them not to tangle with the Caelumese delegation unless they couldn't help it. Arlen had lingered to see if anyone else was talking about it or would confront him about the rumours, but no one had. He had started to entertain the possibility that someone had instead located a crack in his group's cohesion and was trying to drive the wedge in further. Unfortunately that theory narrowed his suspects down to everyone in the dark-damned guild.

"I have an appointment this afternoon," he said to Usk. The brute grunted an acknowledgement. "Do you know what the others are doing?"

"Kicking about, I think," Usk replied. "Akiva's hoping for a chance to take Haverford out again. I think Jes is, too, he just hasn't said as much."

Well, Arlen thought, the kid certainly wasn't going out with Jesper alone for the time being. Arlen had taken the man to task over the rumours, but still wasn't convinced he'd made the point thoroughly enough. He didn't need Haverford getting any ideas.

"I don't think either of them should yet," Arlen said, and was surprised when Usk agreed.

"I think you need some time with him, Arl. There's stuff you can teach him without taking him anywhere. And he needs some time with you after so long away, or you won't find that gap easily bridged by the time the leg is finished. Akiva and Jes can wait a week or two. He's your apprentice, not theirs. Don't give up on teaching him so easily."

"I wasn't giving up," Arlen replied, though found himself reluctantly heartened by the encouragement. He did need to spend more time with Haverford. Judging by the quality of the drawings in the journal Arlen had stolen, the boy would not be a bad hand at forgery. Perhaps he could try the kid on some of that; he didn't need to be chasing around after him for that, and after his anger over the break-in it would be good to do something that eased him back into things and kept him out from under Marick's eye.

"You could ask them to keep Silas out of the way for you instead," Usk said, as if in an aside. Arlen seized on it, nodding.

They stopped at Darin's first – the bastard had set the whole thing up so that Arlen couldn't get into Porter's workshop without him, even though he'd made his intentions clear from the start with a hefty down payment. It was hardly like he could run off with it and he didn't need a dark-damned chaperone.

"Do you not have work today?" Arlen muttered, scowling as Darin climbed in. He never looked like he was sleeping well, but that day he looked exceptionally ill.

"Sent me home." The reply didn't invite questioning, but Arlen couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

"Because I arrived drunk."

"No wonder you look dead."

Darin glared at him. "Like you can talk."

"I can hold my drink," Arlen countered, pointedly looking at the dark circles around Darin's eyes and the dishevelled state of his hair and clothing. He wondered if Usk had rousted him from his bed. "When did you stop drinking, an hour ago?"

"Didn't." As he sat down, Arlen noted a definite wobble to the man's movements. As he brushed past, Arlen got a noseful of harsh spirits. "Avoiding the hangover."

Great. Darin wasn't much fun to be around when he was sober. Looking at the thunderous scowl on the man's face, Arlen didn't think alcohol improved the situation.

"You know drink does not solve bad feelings," Usk said conversationally.

"I didn't ask for life advice from someone who thinks eating people is a grand idea," Darin said, beginning as a snarl and scaling down to a nauseated mumble. He lowered his head to his knees and groaned as the carriage rattled and bumped back along the road in the direction of the steel district.

By the time they reached the workshop they'd had to stop twice for Darin to throw up in a gutter, and Arlen was thoroughly sick of the intermittent groaning. He couldn't remember if he'd ever been so bad at holding his alcohol. He sat and waited in the wagon both times, impatient, but Usk seemed to take it in his stride. For a seven foot muscled brute who'd probably killed more people than even Arlen had, he sure seemed to enjoy mothering. And Darin must have been feeling wretched to accept the rough attendance offered.

If Porter had any thoughts on Darin's state when they arrived, nothing betrayed it save the slight thinning of his lips. To Arlen's indignation, the man was looking at him disapprovingly, as if he'd made the decision to drink all night and get himself kicked out of work. The appointment that followed was conducted in a stiff, surly silence. Arlen couldn't even gather enthusiasm for the revelation that the leg could be ready in a matter of days. It was a much sleeker model than his current clanking contraption, and lighter too. No one would ever mistake it for a real leg, but he didn't need them to. He was sure he could learn to get on with this new one. But just as he was getting enthused he would catch sight of Darin's white face or Porter's disapproval and his mood would come crashing down again. Nict below, it wasn't like he'd had much to celebrate in recent months, and he still wasn't even allowed this.

"My mother used to make teas for hangovers," Usk told Darin as he staggered off the wagon outside his house-share after the appointment. "I will bring some for you."

Darin peered at him like the Varthian was trying to poison him, then nodded a stiff thanks and disappeared inside. Arlen watched him go, scowling, and turned and found a mirror of Porter's disapproval on Usk's face.

"What?" he snapped. "What exactly is the fucking problem?"

"I think," the Varthian said ponderously, "that he is...succumbing to grief too much. I think you are all he has...and perhaps he needs that right now."

Arlen glared at him for a moment, and then burst out, "You're a fucking assassin, Usk, not a priest. You're also a bloody hypocrite. Night take me."

Usk seemed unperturbed by the barb. "Family grief is different." He sighed, and deftly switched subjects, as if he hadn't noticed he was stirring Arlen into a boiling rage. "Do you want to send Akiva with a note for Haverford?"

Arlen sighed, trying to force out all his tension with it. It didn't work. "Yes. I want to see him tonight."

-

Haverford took his sweet time arriving that evening. When he did climb through the window of Arlen's rooms, he was out of breath but unapologetic. Arlen clearly wasn't forgiven yet. He dumped his bag where he always did and then stood stiffly at attention beside Arlen's table. Every line of his body read reluctance.

"Sit," Arlen said. It had been an invitation – if the boy wanted to put his back out standing there like an idiot, he was welcome to it – but Haverford flinched like he'd shouted. Slowly he lowered himself into the other chair. "Kid, we're not going to get very far like this. What can I do to convince you I'm not going to kill you?"

"Convince me?" Jordan repeated. "Not sure you can. Being that you're an assassin. And that you and Marick are holding my sister's life over my head."

"That was Marick's threat," Arlen replied. "I only offered you the skills to protect her. If you've mixed the two up in the intervening time, then the problem doesn't lie with me."

Haverford showed the first wavering of uncertainty. Arlen waited. "You're still an assassin. And when you get angry you look like you'd be willing to stab anybody who looks at you funny."

"I may look like it, but the clue's in the name, kid. I'm a contract killer. I kill people I'm told to kill, and I kill people who get in the way of jobs I'm paid to do. Sometimes if my life is threatened, which I feel is only fair. I don't go around stabbing everyone, because that's called being cracked. Subtle difference, I know. And I didn't get second rank in this guild by looking cuddly." He sighed. "If I killed you, kid, your tutor would come after me like a pack of Pit hounds, regardless of whether I believe killing Unspoken is bad luck. If you don't believe anything else I say, I'm sure you can believe that my sense of self-preservation wins out on that front."

"I think I can."

Arlen narrowed his eyes at Jordan's tone, sensing there was an angle to it he didn't know. Tempted as he was, he didn't press it. He was walking too fine a line as it was. "I had no intention of meeting your sister in person. And no intention of harming her by sending Ashe. You're holding back on me, kid. You can't hold back and make it in the Devils at the same time."

"If you want to know more about me, you could always ask," Jordan pointed out sourly. "I'm here, aren't I? This way I don't risk all my friends finding out I'm training with a criminal. Also, Nika was trained to fight by Yddris. You probably had a narrow miss."

Arlen sneered. He didn't need the boy getting cocky instead. He didn't sign up for a second Silas. "Noted. I can handle myself, kid, don't patronise me. And don't pretend you'd have told me fuck-all if I'd asked outright."

They glared at each other across the table. Jordan caved first, appearing to remember all at once who exactly he was talking to.

"You've killed people. It doesn't even bother you." Jordan's voice barely rose above a mumble. "I don't think I will ever be comfortable with that."

"Did you steal the blades?"

The direct inquiry seemed to surprise the boy, and in that moment of surprise Arlen caught the unmistakable signs of guilt in his body language.

"That depends on whether Yddris actually saw me do it," Jordan replied. "He didn't say anything. And I didn't draw his attention deliberately."

At least he was honest about it, though that wasn't really in keeping with the ethos of the Devil guild. As long as he was only compromisingly honest with Arlen and not with other Devils, there were no issues.

Before he could reply to that, he heard footsteps on the crates to the window. His visitor moved stealthily, but he was long accustomed to listening for approach. Only Marick could get inside without Arlen knowing the instant he started climbing the crates. He kept his hand on the handle of his belt knife, and scowled when Ashe climbed inside. She looked altogether too pleased with herself for working out where he lived.

"I've never told you my address for a reason, Ashe," Arlen growled. "Later."

Her eyes had already alighted on Jordan, sparkling with mischief. "Hey, stranger."

"Ashe."

She pouted. Jordan said nothing, but the crackling in the room cranked up several notches. "But it's urgent. And secret."

"So was my address." Moving place was starting to look an increasingly good prospect. Far too many people now knew where his current abode lay.

"No, this is way more important." She skipped across the room and planted herself on the table between them. Jordan flinched as if he'd narrowly avoided throwing himself out of the seat to get away from her, which might have been amusing if Arlen wasn't already so pissed off.

"Fucking tell me, then, and stop flirting with my apprentice."

Ashe ceased fluttering her eyelashes at Jordan, who was suddenly finding the ceiling very interesting. "Why? Is that no-balls thing true?"

"No," Arlen and Jordan said it at the same time, Jordan much more forcefully.

"How do you know?" Jordan demanded.

Ashe cackled. "Yeah, Arlen, how do you know?"

Arlen glowered at both of them. "Oh, fuck off. It's an old wives' tale, like most of the demonshit floating around about witch men. Ashe, what's the news?"

Finally she sobered. It had always been alarming how quickly she could swing from teasing to serious, and Arlen had always wondered if she'd cracked somewhere down the line in some way. Not that that was a question you could ask without risking a shanking. She gestured over her shoulder at Jordan. "Can we trust him?"

"As much as you can trust me."

She grinned. "You're such a cynical fuck, Arlen. I just slipped away from Gelert. I don't think there's any doubt that Marick's conspiring with Caelum."

Jordan stiffened in his seat. Arlen also felt frozen to the spot. "Why are you telling me this?"

He'd never seen her so serious. "Because Gelert's in on it, and I don't like it any more than you do. If anyone can do something about it, it's you."

It was all coming back to bite him now. Was this where the rumours about the takeover had started? Was Marick manoeuvring him to the side-lines so he couldn't interfere? And replacing him with that smug, stiff-legged, stupid...

"Did you hear what the plans were?" Jordan asked, shocking him out of his stupor.

"I'll tell you for a peek at that pretty face."

"What were the plans, Ashe?" Arlen repeated the question. He realised that, in that very moment, despite all his catastrophizing, he had never truly believed that Marick would betray him. Set him aside due to the leg, perhaps. Not replace him behind his back. There was only ever one way that ended for the man who was replaced. The realisation was like a fist to the gut.

"I only got as much as I did because Gelert didn't realise I was there," Ashe said, a touch defensively. "When he noticed me, they broke off talking right away and pretended they were just discussing supplies. Like I was dark-damned stupid or something. I only heard enough to ascertain that they were in discussion with some Angel or other."

"Did you get a name?" Jordan asked. Arlen scowled.

"Are you the apprentice here, kid, or am I?"

Jordan seemed unperturbed by the warning note in the question. "Was it Cael?"

Ashe raised an eyebrow, swinging her legs off the edge of the table. "As a matter of fact, it was."

"Who's Cael?" Arlen demanded, feeling distinctly left behind.

"The leader of the Caelumese contingent staying in the castle," Jordan said. "Scary bastard. Feels like he's reading your mind."

Arlen shivered, his scar prickling worse than it had in years. "Well. Fuck."

"Well fuck what?" Akiva jumped in through the window, grinning like life was some big joke. Arlen couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to take anything as a joke. He felt like his life was finally crumbling into rubble; everything he had been working towards had been for nothing. Marick hadn't intended to keep him on, not in his current rank. His aversion to the Caelumese would have cost the guild leader's plans too much. So much made sense now; how little help he had received with replacing the leg, the weeks that went by where Marick didn't so much as glance at him. There had once been a time where Arlen was at Marick's side every other day, helping with the running of the guild. What point had he missed where it had all gone wrong? And yet, Marick had insisted he train Jordan, hadn't he? To what end was that, if he had intended to replace Arlen all along?

"That bastard," he breathed. "He wants me to train my own replacement."

"What?" Jordan and Akiva said together.

"Has he approached you?" Arlen demanded, leaning across the table towards Jordan. "Has he made deals with you about me? Speak!"

"No!" Jordan said, getting fired up in turn. "When would he have done that? I haven't even been here! Last time I saw him, you were there!"

They both flinched at that. Last time Jordan had seen the master of the guild, Marick had forced the Devil tattoo on the boy, without Arlen's say-so. Another tally against Arlen's blindness.

"If he does, you tell me," Arlen said. "No matter what he threatens you with."

He had little faith in that; the boy had shown a considerable track record of caving to blackmail, at least where one person in particular was concerned. It could only help his case, however, if Jordan knew there would be consequences no matter which way he decided. Arlen wished he knew how to convince the boy to his side, but perhaps Marick had known that there was no way he could truly win Haverford's loyalty. When it came to blackmail, the guild leader held far more cards than Arlen did. He most likely didn't need the boy's loyalty for whatever it was he had planned – not yet, anyway. Jordan was probably just as much of a pawn as Arlen had just realised he was himself.

"You might need to catch me up," Akiva said. "Also, hey kid. Glad you didn't die in the Barrens."

Jordan's response was dry as dust. "Me too."

"We've got a situation," Arlen said, sighing. "Go and round up the others."

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)