Sixty Two: Company

It was not how Jordan had planned to spend his night. Arlen had ordered him to stay in the other chair at the table, so the others of Arlen's group had gathered around them and Ashe still sat on the table in between, looking like someone had just presented her with a wonderful gift. He tried to pretend he hadn't noticed that she was trying to get a look at him under his coverings, or that some of the looks she sent him were distinctly flirtatious. He kept his thoughts fixed on the visit to Laurel Yddris had promised him tomorrow afternoon.

Arlen clearly didn't trust Ashe; most of the conversation had been conveyed in looks between the members of his group that Jordan couldn't read. He felt as if he was under scrutiny, and it wasn't at all a pleasant feeling. Like it was his fault Marick had some mysterious, unspecified plan for him.

"I would suggest that we start escorting the boy to and from yours," Usk rumbled.

"We can't exactly stop Marick from talking to him," Jesper put in. "That's just bleeding obvious."

"No, but we would know that he had," Usk countered.

"Fair," Arlen said. "We'll sort a rota."

"I don't suppose I get a say in this?" Jordan muttered. The last thing he wanted was to spend every trip to and from the dead quarter with a member of Arlen's posse. It was the only time he ever had completely to himself.

"No," Arlen replied without looking at him. "And the official story is that we're keeping Silas off him. It's probably an idea anyway. The little shit won't be happy that the kid's back."

"I'll say," Akiva said. "I saw him talking to himself and kicking barrels behind the beer hall the night he got back."

"If you're so concerned that Marick is training me to replace you," Jordan interrupted, though he couldn't quite make himself believe it, "why are you still training me?"

Arlen gave him a strange smile. "For the time being, kid, you're my insurance. If he didn't want me to train you more than he wants me dead right now, then I'd be fucking dead. Training you will at least give me enough time to figure a way out of this demonshit."

"Why can't you just tell him you won't oppose the plans?"

"Well firstly, it would betray that I might have been spying on him or that Ashe was an informant. She wouldn't thank me for that."

"I'd nail your balls to this table," Ashe said sweetly, dark eyes glinting.

"See? And second, it ain't fucking true and he would know it. The day I agree to work with Caelumese is the day I should be put away for being irretrievably cracked." A shadow passed over the assassin's face, making the thick scar down his cheek stand out vividly. Jordan was starting to have suspicions about where the man got it. "This is my only option. If I try and go it alone, I die. If someone here betrays me, I die. If I sit here and do nothing, I die. Are you getting the gist? This is some bad shit that I saw way too fucking late. You're either with me or you aren't."

He looked around at all of them then, his eye lingering longest on Usk.

"He'd seriously kill you for not following along with plans?" Jordan asked incredulously. But when he really thought about it, he could believe it. He had met Marick more than once, and though the man presented a pleasant face, there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he looked at people, that left no one in any doubt that he'd not lose sleep about killing them if he deemed it necessary.

"That's the thing," Akiva kicked back in his chair, looking far too relaxed about the whole thing, "Arlen wouldn't just not follow along. He'd oppose any agreement made with the Angels, and Marick couldn't risk him doing it publicly."

"Why not?"

"Because," the assassin seemed to relish having everyone's attention, even Arlen's sour glare, "he'd have grounds for challenging the leadership. Anyone too scared to stand up to Marick alone would rally with Arlen. They'd see it as a crack in Marick's power, if his most loyal man turned on him over plans this controversial. Especially if that man is the only one who had a chance of getting in spitting distance of the beer hall's chair."

"Not with one leg," Arlen growled.

"And he wasn't fucking helping you out, was he?" Akiva countered. "I bet he did a little celebratory jig when you got shot. Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right."

"I haven't challenged for the leadership because I don't want it," Arlen said. His tone was such that no one butted in this time. Every face at the table turned grave except Ashe's; the woman seemed to be finding everything a great deal of fun, and had moved onto finding ways for her fingers to brush against Jordan faux-casually. He fidgeted back in his seat, sinking into a deep and familiar gloom. He couldn't believe it; there was no crisis that could happen without dragging him into the middle of it. If Harkenn was indeed poisoned, that was bad enough – if the very man who had bullied Jordan into an apprenticeship with the assassin guild was behind it, or at least in on it, where the fuck did that leave him? He was starting to feel like he and Grace should have taken the risk and jumped off the edge of that island when the Listener appeared. It would have saved them a literal world of hassle.

He didn't even like Harkenn. He felt no loyalty to the lord or the guildmaster of the Devils. He didn't feel much towards Arlen, either, who was busy roping him into his own plans; if he had any compunction to follow the assassin at all, it was only because Marick scared him more. He still didn't understand why Arlen wanted anything to do with him. He seemed to feel nothing but contempt for the vast majority of people.

"This is still conjecture," Arlen said. He stalled Jesper's protests with a raised finger. "Okay, so Marick has definitely spoken to the Caelumese. We don't know for certain what plans he has made, if any, or if he just intends to. Without evidence, there's nothing we can do. Throwing accusations around only gives him a legitimate reason to kill us all. So we wait, and watch, and we don't let on that we know jack shit until I've got enough information to make a plan. Is that all clear?"

"What about her?" Raziel asked, pointing a grubby finger at Ashe. She just fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"I assume she's also going to stay quiet, considering she came to me about it." Arlen smiled coldly. "Gelert would be extremely unhappy if he found out she'd been here to do anything more than chuck a shit-bomb through my window."

"And if Gelert sent her to throw you off? Or get you stirred up?"

"Then it wouldn't be me getting body parts nailed to this table. If he wants to stir me to action, he won't get any. Not on anyone's terms but mine."

-

He'd caved, at Akiva's overenthusiastic insistence. He sighed, both in relief and shame, as blackweed streamed from his nostrils in two long plumes. He hadn't realised how tense he had become without it in just a handful of days.

Nika was going to kill him.

"Which one of you left it on my windowsill?" he asked drowsily. "The blackweed?"

"Akiva did, obviously." Jesper smirked at him over the cloud from his own cigarette. "I think he'd happily adopt you."

Jordan didn't shudder; the blackweed left him too zoned out for that. "I think encouraging addictions is considered bad parenting."

Arlen snorted. The assassin had already necked a whole bottle of nettle wine in the time they had been sitting there, though Jordan had lost track of how long that was. Much as he had wanted to escape after Ashe, Akiva and Raziel left, Arlen hadn't let him leave. Fortunately he also hadn't sent him out on errands. Jordan thought of the patrol he was scheduled to go on with Nika the next morning. If he hadn't been dosed up he might have wept.

"How's Darin?" Jesper said after a moment. The hazy quality of the atmosphere sharpened. Behind Jordan, Usk tensed. Arlen paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth, and then lowered it.

"What's it to you? Why would you assume I'd seen him?"

Jesper held up both hands. "Liked him. Seemed like he had a sensible head on his shoulders. Nict, Arl, I've already forgotten all that. I apologised, didn't I?"

Jordan sensed he was missing something, but knew better than to ask Arlen for information that wasn't offered. The sudden changes in mood at unexpected topics was one of the most unnerving things about the man. He never knew when he was about to tread on a conversational landmine.

The assassin's face clearly said that he hadn't forgotten whatever it was, but as Jordan tensed for a blade to go flying or the shouting to start, Arlen returned to his drink. "He's busy drinking himself half to death in that shitty room his landlord forced him to take. Other than that, fan-fucking-tastic, I'd wager."

"He's on his own?" Jordan blurted before he could stop himself. Arlen gave him a withering look.

"Not you as well. Spare me, kid."

Jordan frowned. Arlen's adoptive mother had died not long after he'd left for the Guildtown – Usk had filled him in before he'd entered Arlen's rooms that night. He guessed, probably pretty solidly, that Arlen wasn't taking it as well as he looked on the outside. But if it had been Grace in that position, alone with grief like Darin must have felt, he couldn't imagine just leaving her to deal with it. And in spite of their rough start, Jordan kind of liked Arlen's adoptive brother. As much as one could like a near-stranger they'd almost killed once, anyway.

"I could go," he offered, before he'd even thought it through, and he was rewarded with a narrow glare.

"No, you fucking couldn't," Arlen retorted. "Mind your own, kid."

Jordan took the hint, hearing the edge of impatience in his teacher's tone.

"I suppose you should get back," Arlen said after a moment. "Shouldn't you?"

"Probably. I have a patrol first thing."

Arlen sneered and gestured to the corner, where Jordan's pack and spare clothing waited. Jordan stubbed out his cigarette in the metal ashtray in the centre of the table and crossed the room to change. Arlen hadn't asked Jesper to leave, which left him no choice but to cleave as close to the wall as he could get, facing away from the table as he hurriedly stripped and dressed again.

"He's inked already?" he heard Jesper hiss at Arlen. The room was too small and quiet for him to miss it, and he felt his cheeks burn with shame.

"Marick forced it on him," Arlen muttered back. "He didn't consult me first, and if he had I wouldn't have agreed."

Jordan glanced at the back of his teacher's head, frowning, and then continued packing up his things. As he took a step towards the window, Usk grunted to get his attention. "Something on the mantel for you."

It was a small package of blackweed. Jordan didn't toy with the idea of leaving it there for as long as he probably should have. As he picked it up, something underneath it rustled – a folded note. He cast it a surreptitious glance as he lifted the package, and then pocketed both items. Usk winked at him.

"Thanks," Jordan said, nodding in return.

"Little things help sometimes," the Varthian returned.

"Tomorrow night I want you back," Arlen said. Jordan hoped he hadn't noticed the slip of paper disappear into his pocket with the blackweed. He hadn't exactly been a roaring success at thieving behind Yddris's back, and Arlen did it for a living. "I'm going for a fitting. And then we're going out."

"We?" Jordan blinked. "As in you and me?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Arlen scowled. "Don't sound so bloody surprised, kid. You're my apprentice. You're learning from me."

Jordan didn't like the proprietary edge to Arlen's words, but nodded anyway, sensing that any other response would likely be taken the wrong way. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was still annoyed at Arlen for breaking into Yddris's house while he was gone, and for making everything so dark-damned complicated all the time. Neither Grace nor Nika had yet made any mention of it in the days since his return, though he'd spent plenty of time with both, and he had no idea what to make of it. He wasn't stupid enough to hope that either of them had dropped it indefinitely.

As he climbed out and jumped down to the street, he knew Usk shadowed him. The brute didn't make his presence known, but it was the first time ever that Jordan traversed the dark quarter without one hand on a knife hilt. He didn't like Usk, and didn't deem him a particularly safe companion, but there was an undeniable benefit to allowing the man to escort him home.

He didn't head immediately to Yddris's, however tempting the prospect of a bed and some sleep was. Instead, he skirted around the merchants' quarter. He was far too tired to make it all the way on foot, so he hitched a ride on a late-night delivery wagon for two stone Flint. He stopped catching glimpses of Usk out of the corner of his eye at that point; Arlen couldn't blame him for letting Jordan do this if he'd never seen it happen. He stopped in a tavern for some hot food, in part because he was hungry himself, and carried it to the door of the address on the slip of paper Usk had smuggled to him. He didn't allow himself to think of the dressing-down Arlen would give him if he found out.

Arlen had not been joking about the shitty nature of the house Darin Blackheart now lived in. Though the cottage he had previously lived in was tiny, it was clean and private. The towering, run-down residency in front of him was a dive in comparison. The street outside smelled of piss and rotting food.

He let himself in, but didn't linger in the halls. The stairs were too damp to creak; even if they had, the muffled noise inside some of the rooms would have covered him. When he reached the second door on the top floor, he knocked and waited. He had just resigned himself to the fact that Darin was too deeply asleep to hear the door and was about to leave when he heard unsteady footsteps cross the room. The bolt rattled and drew back.

"What are you doing here?" Darin peered through and opened the door wider. He looked haggard and sleep-deprived, and had made no effort to shave in recent days. He reeked of booze.

"Arlen said you'd moved." Jordan took a moment to find words; the man's appearance compared to how Jordan had last seen him was shocking. "I'm sorry to hear about your mum."

"Is that what you woke me up for?" Darin muttered, but stepped aside to let him in. "What does he want now?"

"He doesn't know I'm here."

Darin gave him a strange look. "Then why are you here?"

Jordan held up the food, wrapped in wax paper packages. He was starting to feel a bit stupid. "I thought...well, Arlen said you weren't happy with the move. And I figured he was probably being a shit about it. So I brought food. And company, if you want it. I have an hour spare."

"He's a shit about everything." Even through the haze of alcohol, Darin's gaze was sharp. He scanned Jordan's hood as if trying to figure something out. Then he laughed softly, a despairing note in it. "I don't think anyone has ever done this for me, kid. Not once." He nodded. "The company is welcome."

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. There weren't many places to sit in the room; Darin had brought the single chair from the cottage with him, along with the tin bath and the pallet from the bed. A pile of dirty clothes occupied one corner. A collection of empty bottles occupied another.

"Take the chair," Darin grunted. "I'll sit on the bed. If I'd expected a visitor I'd have cleaned up a bit."

"It's no problem," Jordan replied. He sat down on the chair, and Darin took his food to the pallet, propping himself up against the wall.

"I presume you know Arlen won't be happy."

Jordan shrugged. "He shouldn't have left your address lying about. Or been a turd about checking in with you."

"He didn't go inside that room and talk to Ma for years. Not until she was dying." Darin shovelled in more food. Jordan wondered when the man had last eaten a square meal. "I'm sure he'd come and have a natter if one of my organs gave out on me."

"Have you always disliked each other this much?"

Darin smirked. "No. It definitely went sideways after he started running with the Devils. Though he always had a bullying streak." He paused as if lost in the momentum of his thoughts. "I always assumed it was the Angels beat it into him."

"So that scar is from the Caelumese."

Darin glanced at him and then at the bottles in the corner as if realising that his drinking had loosened his tongue more than it should. He sighed, and put down his empty dishes, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Aye. I've told you before he was a refugee. Back before the first Annexe War, and during it as well, Shadow's Reach filled with civilians escaping the army burning through their towns and villages. Some fared worse than others. My parents used to have a farm out near Helshut, but we came here at the first hint that the army was heading in that direction. Nothing was left for them to go back to, but they were okay. Arlen's village was caught unawares." Darin glanced at him. "He's never told me any details, but I know he was taken prisoner for a time. I know none of his family survived it. And I know the Angels are cruel in war. My mother almost died giving birth to me, and miscarried three more, so they went to the refugee camps to adopt. They found Arlen there. Even then he had that look, like he would watch the world burn down and laugh about it."

"That's an accurate way of putting it," Jordan said. "He seemed surprised that I was worried he'd kill me if I put a foot wrong." He paused. "Jesus, that sounds awful."

"Yes, well, he's taken it out on everyone else by making a living on other people's misery," Darin replied. "I wouldn't call it an honourable recovery."

"Perhaps not."

"None of this leaves this room," Darin added severely. "He might just do something stupid if he found out I told you."

"Trust me, I like my balls where they are." Jordan shuddered. In that movement, his body reminded him how exhausted he was. He still had a trip back home to make, and he couldn't guarantee that another delivery wagon would help him out this time. "I'm going to be at Arlen's next leg fitting. Will I see you?"

"Undoubtedly," Darin said. "I'm on extended leave from work to sort myself out before I pitch myself into the wax vat or something." He gave the empty bottles another beleaguered look. "I think the guy across the hall collects dead things. It's the only way I sleep at night."

"Well, instead of drinking here on your own, you can join me for a pint any night I don't have a patrol or have Arlen dragging me around the city. Won't be that many, now I'm thinking of it, but the offer's there." Jordan rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I'll rope a couple of friends in some nights. They won't mind, they won't know who you are anyway."

"Is someone paying you to do this?"

Jordan squinted at the confusion on Darin's face. "Eh? No. I just don't think you should be alone all the time after...everything. We've established Arlen's a shit. If it was my sister in this situation, I'd want to someone to step in if I was too emotionally constipated to do it myself."

Darin chuckled. Then his smile faded. "Don't let him sink his claws in too deep, will you? You're a good kid. He doesn't deserve anything from you."

Jordan cleared his throat and stood. "I'll get in contact when I'm free next. If you want to come. Up to you."

"I'll look out for it." Darin came to the door and watched him descend the stairs. "Thank you, kid."

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)