Six: Misgivings

Pain.

Pain and misery – Arlen's days seemed to consist of nothing but.

And humiliation, too, of course; he hobbled into Marick's beer hall assisted by a walking stick and a false leg that made more noise than a choir of demons, and no matter what threats he made, Usk wouldn't stop hovering around him like an anxious hen.

"If you don't stop doing that," Arlen growled with gritted teeth, after Usk steadied him for the third time, "you're going to need a replacement pe-..."

"Arlen!" Akiva interrupted him, approaching with a large tankard of ale and looking far too pleased with himself for a sixthday evening. "Finally dug you out of your hole, eh?"

"Shout that a bit louder and Harkenn might hear you in his garret," Arlen snapped. Several curious gazes had turned their way at Akiva's exclamation, and he'd been hoping to sneak in fairly unnoticed. He offered each onlooker a poisonous glare, and pushed past Akiva to reach a free seat.

"I see you were eager to be dug out," Akiva replied, though much quieter. He probably thought Arlen wouldn't notice the glance he exchanged with Usk, but the last few months had given Arlen plenty of time to practice reading people's faces.

"At least I'm allowed to kick shitheads like you out of my own place," Arlen said.

"You wound me." Akiva placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. Then he dropped it, exaggerated frown turning into a mischievous grin. "Why would I want to come to yours, anyway? It fuckin' stinks. And I don't even care about that sort of thing."

Arlen glanced at Usk, who studiously avoided his eye. He grunted; cleaning hadn't exactly been his top priority of late, but supposed that if a man who had once chased a mark into a sewage pit wouldn't meet his gaze, he might have to think about it.

"No one mentioned that before," he muttered, low enough for only Usk to hear it as they found seats near the dais. Arlen was surprised to find them still free after his extended absence. "Haverford didn't."

"Haverford is convinced he'll get a knife in his gut if he does," the brute said. "And to be very frank, if he timed it badly he probably would."

Arlen scowled but said nothing. His apprentice was the one person he couldn't afford to have drifting away – especially not after he had been forced to involve other guild members while his leg healed. Marick was very clear on the rules regarding apprentices – other members couldn't actively poach an apprentice from another, but if the student wished to transfer of their own accord to someone willing, there was nothing stopping them. The only reassurance Arlen had was that Jordan Haverford appeared to greatly dislike all of his teachers, but it was overshadowed somewhat by the fact that he didn't like Arlen, either.

Apprentices were an asset – someone in the guild who owed their loyalty to their teacher and no one else barring the guild leader. In Arlen's precarious position, he needed to keep hold of Haverford, and he was going to have a hard time if the boy thought he was at constant risk of being gutted.

The leg was just healing so dark-damned slowly.

A serving girl brought out two mugs of ale and set them down before scurrying off. Akiva had engaged another in some bawdy conversation she seemed to be enjoying as much as he was. Why the loudmouth scumbag had so much luck in that respect Arlen had never been able to fathom, but he hoped Marick started the meeting before he had to listen to the two rutting under the bar.

He took a sip and sighed. He hadn't had ale in weeks – certainly nothing of the quality Marick kept in the stores. Usk had found nettle wine hard enough to come by, and that was normally cheap as dirt. Everything was getting hard to come by. It was just like the leader of the Hooded Devils to find a way to avoid problems no one else could seem to get around.

There was no obvious signal to herald Marick Silversong's arrival, but a hush fell over the beer hall a moment later. The flickering lamps in the centre of the room picked out figures lurking in the shadows, though no one sat or stood within reach of the light if they could help it. Arlen felt a familiar flicker of anticipation, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He had spent too long cooped up away from the world, and itched to get on with something – though what, in his condition, he wasn't sure.

There might at least be some news that wasn't simply a reiteration of what he already knew.

Footsteps echoed on the dais, and Marick entered, seating himself in the ornate chair in the middle of the platform. Arlen hadn't set eyes on his employer for weeks, not since negotiating Haverford's apprenticeship terms. It set confusing emotions boiling inside him; he was grateful to be back, but also resentful. He wasn't entirely clear on why, only that he had hoped Marick might have better solutions for him. A missing leg, he supposed, was still a missing leg, no matter who was looking at it.

He surveyed them all for a minute, letting the quiet stretch. When his eyes settled on Arlen, he gave a minute nod in greeting. Arlen's chest eased. He had been half-expecting Marick not to acknowledge him at all. For someone who had been Marick's second in command, a lack of acknowledgement was a long fall from grace.

Arlen settled back on the chair and reached under his tunic to loosen the strap of his prosthetic where it bit into his skin. His stump ached, too – it was probably too early to be wearing it, but he wasn't turning up without it.

"First of all, if there is anyone in this hall who is behind the theft of three bodies from Kiel's house temple," Marick's voice rang out, "I congratulate you on your skill and sincerely hope you know what you're doing."

A few appreciative chuckles went up around the room. Arlen looked around, and as expected didn't find any clue as to who might have been behind it. He and Usk had made a few guesses, but if even Marick didn't know, then it wasn't likely to come out anytime soon.

"The dark season is coming to an end." Marick got up and grabbed a tankard of ale for himself, before planting himself back in the chair. "We're not quite there yet, but it's coming. It's always a time of plenty for us."

A cheer went up. Several people put tankards in the air.

"But it isn't right now." Marick took a long sip. "Now is a difficult time for us all."

Arlen kept his gaze off his false leg, even though he was certain that someone in the shadows on the other side of the room had just pointed at it.

Laugh it up, he thought, and I'll pay you a visit when I'm good and fucking ready.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Usk nudged him to bring his attention back to the meeting. Arlen blinked and re-focused. He had promised himself he wouldn't allow it to set him back, wouldn't show any weakness to the gathering, and he was already failing. He set his jaw.

"Lord Harkenn has taken it upon himself to crack down on this quarter," Marick continued. He clicked each knuckle on the hand not holding his beer, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear it. "We have seen none of the rations allocated to other quarters. Two weeks ago, the city-funded supply of timber for the streetlights stopped coming, and I have had to coordinate with House Nict to make up the difference. Harkenn well knows that families and civilians still live in this quarter, and this is wilful neglect. It will not stand."

Arlen was unsurprised by the news, but Marick's wording still seemed to rile up a good portion of the Devils. Of course, if rations were short the dead quarter would be the first to take the hit. 'Families' and 'civilians' were code for whatever hangers-on and misbegotten brats the Devils themselves kept around them. But, he supposed, the Devils were buggers for free stuff, and even Arlen took a very dim view of allowing the quarter to go dark. It was one thing to force the Devils to do their own dirty work if they wanted supplies, another to effectively leave them for demons. Timber was one thing the guild had no monopoly over.

It was still better than a dungeon cell and the scaffold, though, and Arlen wondered exactly what was behind this tirade. If he could say he had learned anything at all about Marick Silversong in his years of service, it was that charity was not even a part of the man's vocabulary.

"We need to send the castle a message," Marick said, voice growing louder.

"Hear, hear!" someone cried.

"I have a proposal."

Arlen sucked in his breath despite himself. Whatever this was, it was unlikely that he'd be able to have any part in it. He'd have liked nothing more than an opportunity to piss Harkenn off.

"Behind the castle, there are warehouses storing emergency food. I propose we take what we can carry and then burn them."

A stunned silence stretched through the hall. Arlen almost choked on his ale. This was nothing like he'd anticipated; he had assumed this proposal would involve vandalising the barracks or dumping piss in the laundry vats. Not this – not starving civilians on purpose.

He caught Usk's eye. The Varthian looked just as uneasy as he felt.

"Harkenn has disregarded us for too long," Marick continued. "This would send a clear message; we will have what we need, or we will take it."

A few cheers went up. More than a few, Arlen suspected, were instead thinking exactly what he was – Harkenn well knew that they took what they wanted, and it was very unlikely that the Devils were discounted as a genuine threat.

"If we do not put our foot down now," Marick said, "he will continue to push. I wouldn't put it past him to try and starve us out. Smash the bridges. Mar the runes we have left. Do you want to wait until he does? How many of our number have we lost since he banned the witch men from coming this far?"

Too many, Arlen thought, but couldn't convince himself that burning food stores was the answer. More were convinced, though, and Arlen caught the glimmer in Marick's eye. This was calculated, but to what end?

"I don't like it." The words burst out of him the moment they set foot inside his home again. He had stewed on the idea through the entire carriage ride, unable to say anything because the driver was Marick's man. No matter which angle he looked at it, it made little sense.

Usk glanced over his shoulder, then went to the window and tacked up their makeshift blind to keep the cold and damp out. Arlen collapsed in a chair, fumbling to unstrap his prosthetic and sighing with relief as it came loose. He sniffed.

Maybe he did need to do a spot of cleaning.

"There must be a good reason," Usk rumbled, joining him at the table. "Something he can't tell us yet."

"I am not one for preaching," Arlen said tartly, "nor can I claim the moral high ground for many things. But I'm having a dark-damned bitch of a time thinking of a good reason to torch emergency rations after the season we just had."

The Varthian shrugged, clearly at a loss. "Not many of his decisions are immediately obvious these days."

Arlen shot him a look. They'd been round this loop more than once, to the point where Arlen had banned any mention of Marick unless he brought it up.

"Just saying," Usk said. "Anyway, wouldn't have expected you to be the first to get upset about it."

Arlen wouldn't either. He was convinced the months inside had turned him soft.

He pushed the plans to the back of his mind.

"You still good to take Haverford this week?"

"Aye." The Varthian grinned, the silver and gold winking among his sharpened teeth in the light of a candle he'd just lit. Arlen suppressed a scowl. He needed Usk to play along for now, but he didn't like that the brute had taken a liking to the boy.

"Leave him with some fingernails this time, would you?" Arlen began to unwind the bandaging from his leg stump and winced at the smell that it threw up. "Nict's balls."

"That was an accident," Usk grunted. "I expected him to be faster."

"He's coming on slowly on that front," Arlen said. He glanced up at movement in the corner of his eye. "I don't need help."

Usk met his eye for a pointed few seconds, and then continued to the window still clutching the pail. "Oh, right," he rumbled. "You going to fetch the water yourself, are you?"

A flash of hot, bright anger had Arlen's hand flying to the hunting knife at his belt. He willed himself not to throw it at that stupid, sad look on the Varthian's face. "Fuck you, Usk."

"That's what I thought." He unpinned the window covering and clambered back out into the dark without looking back. Arlen sat back in the chair, glaring out at the drizzling rain that had just started. He was inexplicably unsettled by Marick's plan; his thoughts betrayed his attempts to avoid the subject. Stealing from the emergency stores he would understand. Ruining the castle ale stocks he would understand.

Starving out civilians who weren't marks and had no link to the guild for the sake of a message Harkenn would almost certainly ignore; that he was unsure about. He had never liked collateral damage.

He hefted himself up with the help of his walking stick and hobbled over to light the fire. He stuffed several pieces of kindling into the ashes, and then dumped out what was left of their vegetables onto the table. He used his hunting knife to peel the potatoes, and dumped the shavings in the bizarre pile of muck Haverford called a compost heap. The boy had shown up with an old trough one day and suggested Arlen try growing some of his own food, which he had initially scoffed at; but things were tight, and he had nothing to lose for trying. And, he grudgingly admitted, the otherworlder did often come up with ideas that worked.

Usk returned much later than he had anticipated. He had put the fire out to preserve the wood; he needed the water for cooking. He opened his mouth to ask what in Nict's name had taken so long, and paused when he saw the look on Usk's face. The Varthian hauled the pail over to the cooking pot with an ease Arlen envied. He dreaded to think how his body would perform on jobs now he had spent weeks sitting idle.

"I don't think it's one of ours stealing bodies," Usk said, over the rush of water into the cooking pot.

"What makes you say that?"

"Another Kelian temple reported a break-in." The pail hit the floor with a thud next to Arlen's foot. "Only this time they stole from a sealed burial vault. You know..." Usk scratched his chin, "the ones they seal up with brick and mortar."

"Surely someone would have heard them smashing that down."

"That's the thing. It wasn't smashed."

"Demonshit."

"I doubt Harkenn would be trying so hard to keep it quiet if nothing strange was happening," Usk replied. "Guards stationed outside every dark-damned entrance."

"Was there another way in?"

"If there was, they sealed it back up without leaving any evidence, and I've never known mortar to dry that fast."

Arlen scowled. He wasn't in the mood for more puzzles. The last one he'd tried to solve had turned out to be a tactic to keep him out of the way, and he wasn't keen on playing sleuth again. "There's probably an explanation for that, and I don't care what it is. Chuck me a cloth, would you?"

Usk threw him a scrap of linen, and Arlen began to wash his stump, wincing at the cold. It sent waves of sharp pain through his shot nerves all the way into his teeth, and he found himself clawing for some way of keeping the conversation going to distract himself.

"I didn't see Silas at the meeting, did you?" he asked, as Usk pinned the window covering back up and sat down to roll them both a blackweed cigarette. The rain came harder now, beating at the canvas like drumming fingers.

"Doesn't mean he wasn't there," Usk muttered, but didn't sound optimistic.

"If he missed a full-guild meeting to stalk Haverford, Marick will flay the little shit alive." Arlen dropped the cloth back with a splash and accepted a cigarette. "Then I'll get to him."

"He hasn't done anything yet," Usk replied. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, blowing out smoke through his nose. "Just watches him sleep."

"How do you know that?"

One yellow eye cracked open. "Boy told me."

So they were having heart-to-hearts without him – Arlen should have figured.

"'M not gonna poach the kid off you, Arl," Usk groaned, closing his eye again. "Can't be arsed with that kind of responsibility."

"I want you to have lessons here from now on." Arlen took a drag on his own cigarette, glowering through the smoke at his companion. Usk only shrugged his huge shoulders, inflaming Arlen's temper further. It was easy for him, secure in his position in the guild. Arlen's injury put him in danger, more danger the longer it took to heal. Haverford was his only ace card, and he was not going to lose it. "And I'm having words with Haverford later."