Sixty Five: A Success

His apprentice was in a fine mood when he climbed through Arlen's window that evening.

"That little fucker tried to stab me," Jordan near-yelled as soon as his boots touched the floor. Arlen paused in picking through his bowl of potato soup, the thousandth since the food shortages began, halfway through convincing himself to take just one more bite without heaving. The food situation had not improved vastly this early into the light season.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" Usk climbed in after the boy, jaw grimly set. "Let Arlen look at the cut, kid."

"No," Jordan muttered. "'S fine."

Usk cuffed the boy on the back of the head. Arlen straightened in his chair, anger flaring. Once he got his hands on that Orthanian... "Get over here, kid. Do you feel alright in yourself? You're not dizzy or sleepy?" Jordan shook his head. "You been sick? Any swelling? Got the shits?" No, no and no. "Probably alright, then. If there was something on the blade that did none of those things that means it works too fast, and you ain't dead, so that's a start. Let me look."

Jordan shuffled over and sat down in the other chair. He seemed more reluctant for Arlen to touch him than he likely would have to stick his finger in demonshit, but Arlen disregarded that, hiking the boy's sleeve up and undoing the clumsy bandaging.

"Did you deal any damage in return?" Arlen said. He didn't expect Jordan to have killed the other boy - though that would certainly have rid him of a likely-cracked nuisance - but for the sake of both their prides he hoped Jordan had at least hit back. "Don't tell me he got out free."

"I kicked him in the dick," Jordan muttered. "Twice. And didn't feel even a little bit bad about it."

Arlen laughed despite himself. He would have paid money to see it. He probed gently around the cut, looking for suspicious clots and finding nothing. Likely Marick hadn't allowed Silas near any poisons or suppliers, and Arlen certainly hadn't. He let out a breath, quietly so as not to betray his relief. "Looks okay to me. You start vomiting blood, get yourself to a Medica."

"Jesus," Jordan muttered. "I'll bear it in mind." He allowed Arlen to re-wrap the bandages and then tugged his sleeve back down. He fixed Arlen with a look that instantly got his back up. "How good are you at identifying poisons?"

"Enough to still be alive," Arlen retorted.

"Before he was taught how to fight properly, he was a favourite for the quiet jobs," Usk put in. Arlen glowered at him, but it didn't seem to perturb the Varthian in the slightest. "Because he was small and fast. He knows them inside out."

"That was years ago. And before you joined the Devils, so how the fuck do you know?"

"You skillset is a point of discussion right now," Usk said gravely. "People have noticed that you and Marick seem to have had a disagreement. They're wondering whether something is going to happen."

"Oh, great."

"I do not think you realise how much support you already have."

"Could you identify a poison from description?" Jordan asked, interrupting. He sounded suddenly much too interested, after weeks of dull resignation at best.

Arlen forcefully bit back his retort to Usk and made himself address his apprentice instead. "Why don't you just say what you're getting at, kid?"

Jordan hesitated, instantly pensive. Arlen was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes.

"Forgetfulness, loss of any sense of time passing, tremors," Jordan said hesitantly. "In an exceptionally hardy person."

"Ha!" Arlen put it together immediately. "Serves that aristocratic fuck right."

"The Caelumese are using it to manipulate proceedings," Jordan continued, as if Arlen hadn't spoken. "Question is, who's worse?"

Arlen exchanged a look with Usk, trying to determine whether the Varthian had said anything or whether Jordan had just got a lucky guess. He could assume that his apprentice just knew that Arlen didn't like the Angels, but his stare seemed too steady for that.

"And what's your stake in this, boy? He doesn't seem to have done much for you." It pleased him to see Jordan shudder at the sudden chill in his voice, but for the first time that Arlen could remember, he didn't back down from it.

"I don't like him. Would probably go as far as hating him. But he keeps the people I care about safe, for a price. More than I think the Angels would offer me, if what I've heard about them is anything to judge by...and if they're anything to do with those things that killed members of my guild and tried to kill me, then I'll throw my lot in with Harkenn." His voice had grown in volume as he spoke, but then all the fight seemed to leave him and he dropped his head to his hands. "Help me figure out what they've done to Harkenn and I'll throw in with any move you make from here."

Arlen had to stop himself before rushing headlong into an agreement. Behind Jordan, Usk's look was triumphant. "And Marick?"

Jordan sighed, so despairingly that Arlen almost felt a twinge of sympathy for him. "That creepy mind-reading Angel wants Grace as well, and god knows what he wants. If Marick is involved with them, then I don't want anything to do with that, and I don't feel I could trust anything he said about protecting her. At least Harkenn leaves her alone now. And I'm pretty sure you at least wouldn't hand her over to Angels." He faltered. "Fuck, I don't know. Literally everyone is threatening her, either to blackmail me or get god-knows-what from her. I can't do everything for everyone. It's impossible."

Arlen's mind raced. This could be his way in – if he played this right, he could get all he had been hoping for from Haverford and more. Clearly blackmail wasn't working for anyone else as far as his loyalty went, but what if Arlen could win it with a different tactic? "For helping you figure out Harkenn's case, you back me in any moves I might make. Not saying for definite I'll make any, but you're an unconditional vote. Yes?"

Jordan nodded, hesitantly.

"For keeping your sister as far out of Marick's reach as I'm able to if things get tense, I want your full commitment to training. Not half-hearted and mopey like it has been. I'll teach you how to defend her yourself, night take me. You'll be able to play as dirty as the rest of them if you stop holding out on me. You can't understand how Marick works unless you can think like a Devil." Arlen paused, and then forced out the most treasonous sentence he had uttered since he had helped Marick ascend the beer hall dais. "If it comes to a fight, and I win, you can consider her out of the Devils' shadow." He pierced his apprentice with his good eye. "I don't make that promise lightly. It's a heavy price, throwing in with me if it comes to that. I can't tell you what Marick would do if I lost, because no one has challenged him since he gained the leadership. Question is, who's worse?"

Jordan was silent for a long while. Arlen could almost hear his mind racing, almost as fast as Arlen's was. The idea had not come together in his head until he spoke it aloud, but he realised he was bracing himself to pose a challenge. No matter what loyalty Marick had commanded in past years – Arlen had idolised him once – it would not survive an attempt by the Devil leader to put the Caelumese on the Shadow's Reach throne. It would not survive him being set aside until he outlived his usefulness and an attempt was made on his life. It occurred to him a flash of darkness that perhaps Jordan was already pulling his strings from Marick's side, but then he re-evaluated. Haverford was too nice, and had not come far enough in his training to be able to do that without Arlen recognising the tell-tale signs.

"How can you keep her out of Marick's reach?" Jordan finally asked. "You've never been able to promise me that before. Not even Marick has promised me her total safety."

"And I'm not promising you that," Arlen replied. "I can't, kid. What I can promise you is that, while she is staying at your witch man's place, I'll have one of the lads on lookout, on any night when the witch men aren't watching her. And I can promise you training, to the best of my ability."

"What about Silas? Is he a danger to her? The mad bastard crept over the fence and tried to shank me while I was having a smoke."

"He won't be, because I've forbidden it." Arlen looked at Usk. "For as long as it takes him to realise he's never taking your place, at least."

"We'll deal with him." The glint of triumph had still not left Usk's eye. "Marick doesn't want Silas near you or your sister. The fact that he has made an attempt on you may provoke a punishment."

"Nict knows what he wants you for," Arlen muttered. "But Usk is right. Marick has asked me to keep you separate. Problem is, no one's watching the turd when he isn't bothering one of us."

Jordan sighed. It was the sigh of a defeated man. "Deal. It's a deal."

"A deal."

Arlen extended a hand across the table and they shook elbows. Jordan's grip trembled around Arlen's arm, but he pretended not to notice. Through the sinking feeling of doom at the thought that Marick really had betrayed him, he felt a surge of hope and triumph. This was a much more solid foundation to build on for the boy's loyalty; promising him something he wanted already, rather than backing him into a corner. Haverford had asked him for help, after all; he wouldn't have done that if he viewed Arlen as irredeemably despicable. It was a game of gentle nudges – one day Haverford would look in the mirror and see a Devil staring back at him, and he wouldn't even have noticed it happening.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

"I'm going for my final fitting for this new leg," Arlen announced. "And then you and I are going to see about visiting an old friend of mine."

"That sounds ominous."

"Do you want my help or not?"

Jordan settled into sullen silence, but posed no further complaints, perhaps remembering that he had to uphold his end of the deal as well. It would be a slow start, Arlen counselled himself, because he couldn't force the boy to feel differently even if his behaviour changed. Slow erosion was the tactic. He would have to step carefully, and not push the boy too far too soon. Sourly he contemplated that that probably meant he would have to have some stern words with Akiva about it.

Usk brought the wagon around from where they stashed it in another neighbourhood – a slightly iffy deal with a smaller gang had given them somewhere to put the horse, but at least it wasn't dead yet – and Jordan and Arlen climbed inside. It was much more comfortable to ride with a stressed-out witch man in the open air, but Arlen could still sense the kid's distress.

"Something else going on?" he asked. "Or the deal already got you shitting bricks?"

"I'm fine." The reply was terse. "I did make the first offer."

"Doesn't mean you liked making it," Arlen pointed out, and glowered at Usk's warning look. Like he needed the brute's help in getting his apprentice on side.

That was their last conversation before they reached Darin's front door. Arlen hadn't seen Darin since the last time he had been to the workshop, and in that time the man seemed to have cleared his act up a bit. At least he didn't trip over the bench when he got in the wagon. Faced with the choice of sitting beside Arlen and sitting beside Jordan, Darin didn't hesitate to slide onto the bench beside the witch kid. Arlen was hard-put not to roll his eyes again.

"You wouldn't have to put up with me if you didn't insist on coming every time," he drawled.

"No, but Porter would," Darin replied tartly. "And I wouldn't do that to a friend."

A strange noise that might have been a stifled snort sounded in the depths of Haverford's face coverings. That wouldn't do. He didn't need Darin sticking his oar in and turning Jordan against him – that was a factor Arlen hadn't considered yet. He stayed silent so as not to give the man any chances at witty retorts, and instead paid close attention to the two as they rode. They didn't seem uncomfortable with each other, and Darin certainly didn't appear to hold the same level of contempt for the boy as he did for every other Devil. Try as he might, he couldn't decide what to make of it.

"I must have looked bad last time for even you to take note of improvement," Darin said. Arlen switched his glare to him. He did look better than last time; he was always pale, but he'd looked borderline corpse-like on the last visit, and couldn't keep his balance for more than a handful of seconds. Arlen was quite happy to let him misinterpret the scrutiny.

"Did your boss come and drag you out by the ear?"

Darin's expression didn't flicker. "Something like that."

"It's ready." Porter greeted them at the door to the workshop with these words, so unexpectedly that Arlen was past him before they registered. He stopped stock-still, staring at the contraption lying on the workbench in front of him. It wasn't pretty, but it was a damned sight better-looking than the clumsy thing he had on. "Just got to make sure the cup is the right size and the straps are long enough, but..." the workman's chest puffed up with pride, "it's done. All possible with your money. Thought I'd never get to work on anything like this, and now I have the plans and the specs, I can go into business with it."

Arlen had almost left the rest of the payment at home that day, not anticipating that it would be done so soon. "I thought you said weeks."

"Another client cancelled a long-running job. Gave me some more free hours and an incentive to earn the rest of my pay for this one." The man chuckled. "She's a beauty, eh?"

Arlen approached the table and laid a hand on the new limb, suppressing a shuddering breath. The rest of his life hung on this one object, no matter what happened with Marick and the other Devils from here. This would make or break him. The metal was cold under his touch, but a thrill ran through him, his mind filling with thoughts of running along the rooftops again, watching the dusk fogs descend over a pint of stolen ale – but his thoughts were getting away from him. He pulled himself back to the present. Just getting around at all would make enough difference. He couldn't hope for more than that.

He got the bag of Auriels out from the inside pocket of his coat. It pained him to part with so much at once – every thief's instinct in him told him to grab the thing and fight his way out with it instead – but he handed it over and immediately turned his attention back to the leg before he felt any regret. "Let's get on with it, then."

Over time he had become used to the dragging weight of his previous prosthetic, so the lightness of his new model took him by surprise at first. His first few steps were stilted, Porter's efforts to help him staved off with glares. Darin watched from the edge of the room, his expression hard to read. Jordan's was, as ever, invisible.

"That's...better," he said cautiously. It was all too tempting to feel triumph at the improved feel, when he hadn't yet even done a full lap of the room. The blade-foot was a strange contraption that upset his balance, but he put that down to not being used to it. It was just as dangerous to assume it was a failure so early on. It had some give to it, which he assumed was designed to help with swifter movement. He tested it against the floor, but saw no sign that it was in danger of snapping. He let out a breath that shook.

"Come back to me with any issues," Porter said. "It's important for me to know for future builds, as well as to fix yours up." He smiled, a rare sight on the old man's face. "I hope it proves to be what you wanted."

"So do I," Arlen replied, with some feeling.

Usk was watching for them when they returned to the wagon, eyes appraising on the new limb. Arlen hoped he didn't look as awkward on it as he felt. He also hoped it wasn't wishful thinking that he wasn't leaning so hard on his stick; pain had made him reliant on it before, but the lighter limb didn't set it to aching so quickly.

"Well?" Arlen asked irritably, when the Varthian said nothing. Usk's eyes met his, and Arlen was forced to look away.

"It seems an improvement," Usk said, turning around on the wagon seat and saving them both the awkwardness. As they climbed back into the wagon, Darin finally left the workshop, saying something over his shoulder to Porter. Once more he picked the seat beside Jordan.

"Where are you going after this?" Darin asked. He sounded a little too interested. Arlen narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you assuming we're going anywhere?"

"You don't usually feel a need to bring your student along," the man replied. "Sometimes I think you genuinely believe I'm stupid."

Arlen said nothing in response to that. He moved straight on with, "We have errands. Might as well try this leg out while we're at it."

"Errands," Darin repeated, but he looked away from the stare-out first and didn't push it further.

"Where are we actually going?" Jordan asked, watching Darin's retreating back as he headed towards the front door of his home a few minutes later. The man kept looking back at the wagon, a strange expression on his face, and Arlen dreaded to think what was going on in his head. Undoubtedly it wouldn't be anything he'd like.

"Nict's temple," Arlen replied. "So Callan can tell us where the Poisoner is currently hiding out."

"Is that wise?" Usk said. "Callan has always worked for Marick."

"And he doesn't have to know that I'm not," Arlen said irritably. "If you've got any better ideas, let's hear them. I'm not spending a week combing the quarter for the slippery bastard, and Callan always knows where he's hiding out."

He took Usk's silence to mean that he did not, in fact, have any better ideas.

He tested the feel of the leg against the base of the wagon as they turned around and headed back for the dead quarter. While sitting it was hard to gage much from just moving it around, but he couldn't help himself. He hadn't been this close to self-sufficiency since he was shot, and against his better judgement his hopes rode high.

"Callan creeps me out," Jordan muttered, drawing Arlen's attention back from his compulsive fiddling. The boy stared at the streets on either side of them, unmoving. Something had been off since he had arrived that evening, but Arlen knew better than to ask. It was one way to get Haverford to clam up on him, but if he left it drifting the boy might unwittingly blurt it out.

But he didn't say anything else before they reached the temple, though his crackling magic grew perceptibly stronger. It was bearable in the open air, but Arlen was still glad to get out of the wagon and put some distance between them. The Nict temple was as quiet as ever, squat and dark in its own courtyard and near-dwarfed by the stone cadaver that took up the central space. The candle in the lantern at the door was the only sign that anyone was inside. Arlen hadn't been back here since before he lost the leg, and it felt strange to walk over the threshold once more. His new leg knocked against the worn tile floor, but it was much less embarrassing than the echoing thunk of his last model, and despite himself he felt a small smile twitch the corner of his mouth.

They weren't intercepted by anyone as they moved down the centre aisle between the pews, leaving Usk at the door to keep a lookout. There probably hadn't been any services since the dark season began; attendance was sporadic enough during the light. Candlelight flickered in Callan's window, to Arlen's relief. Better to get this over with.

The door swung open just as they reached it.

"Ah." Callan looked them both up and down. "It is good to see you up and around again, Arlen. Come in. Tell me what I can do for you."

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)