Seventy: A Vote

It was not fun being back inside a carriage with a stressed-out witch man. Arlen glanced sidelong at Haverford, who refused to look back at him. It was alright for Usk, who had escaped up to the driver's box at the first opportunity. It was just Arlen who had to feel like he was cooking alive in here.

"Your witch place didn't teach you how to make that less obvious?" he grunted. "Nict's balls, kid."

"Oh, yeah, they did," Jordan muttered. "I'm just that much more fucking stressed."

"Well, try and keep a cap on it," Arlen replied. He paused. "Is it the jobs I've assigned you?"

He kept it vague; after all, they were in a carriage Marick had sent, for the first time in a long while. Arlen had only got in because he had Jordan and Usk with him, and because refusing it would have looked strange. With everything he had planned, he couldn't afford to do anything that anyone would look at closer.

"Partly," Jordan muttered, and then seemed to realise he'd opened himself up for further questioning. "Mainly."

"Anything I can help with?"

Jordan looked at him. Arlen couldn't decipher how the boy felt, but suspected it would annoy him. "No."

"You don't trust me."

"Why would I?" Jordan snapped, and then seemed to recall who he was talking to. He looked away. "You've told me yourself on multiple occasions that I shouldn't. I'm just slightly more confident you won't do me in than I am with everyone else. Slightly."

"I don't think you need worry about that," Arlen sat back, sighing, "considering how superstitious everyone is. It's a mad bastard that tries to kill Unspoken, if they believe in any gods at all. It's not just Harkenn's law that keeps you protected, boy. Half of Nictaven thinks you've got the power to wreak revenge from beyond the grave. You should be more worried about them digging through your personal life and using it against you."

Whatever his apprentice's thoughts were on that, he kept them to himself. "What's this meeting for?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Arlen said. Once there had been a time when he knew all of Marick's plans before anyone else did. If he didn't know of them, no one did. The years of his ascension through the guild ranks had been some of the most ruthless, exhilarating years of his life. For a moment, he missed that time with a pang, and then cursed himself for being soft. Still, it was not an easy thing to contemplate when he thought about his situation as it was now. He almost hoped for Marick to give him some reason not to continue planning for the worst case scenario, but every time he thought it, the Devil leader went one step further towards edging him out of the group. Part of him could not believe that he had been set aside in favour of a deal with Angels; surely it was a better reason than that, surely it was at least something he had done to deserve it.

But there was no point to self-pity.

"If you're going to follow me," Arlen added softly, knowing that they both knew what he meant, "it might be an idea to trust me a little more. Not blindly. I don't ask that of anyone. But there may come a time when your life depends on my judgement."

Despite all his coverings, Jordan visibly shuddered. "I guessed as much." He paused. "I can respect your judgement without trusting you."

The sheer balls of the statement took the wind out of Arlen's anger. The boy was much more confident than he had been, whether he recognised it or not. He sat back and turned to the window. Haverford was clearly not feeling forthcoming, and he wouldn't get anything out of him by pushing it further. If Jordan interpreted his silence as anger, then it could serve just as well as a warning.

The beer hall was busy when they entered it. The sound died in volume as Arlen entered, before slowly growing again. It could have been any number of things that caused the hesitation. It was the first time he had worn his new leg to the beer hall - that was one of them. Worse was the possibility that the rumour of a coup attempt had spread further than he'd feared. He didn't want to be forced into action before he was ready, before he knew exactly what Marick was up to. He hoped that helping Haverford solve the Harkenn problem would give him some ideas, because pitching a challenge without a good case built up behind him could lead to early disaster. People had to have a reason to back him, for reasons differing from Marick's. He didn't have the good looks and the smooth talk on his side. He did have decades of experience, he had got away with murdering the Head of Orthan – a job he looked back on even more sourly now – and Marick himself had favoured him. Up until recently, that was.

He led the way through the crowd to their usual seats. He was annoyed but not surprised to find Gelert already sitting on one of them.

"White-eye," the man greeted gruffly. His eyes glittered under the brim of his hat.

"I'm going to have to ask you to move," Arlen said flatly. The beginnings of a smirk that had been lurking at the edges of Gelert's mouth vanished. False niceties were a waste of time when both parties knew the other was insincere.

"Just as much right to sit here as you, Blackheart." Gelert's voice matched his for coldness, but Arlen could tell he was enjoying himself.

"Not the last time I checked," Arlen replied. Despite his mounting fury, he kept his voice calm. How Marick could ever contemplate replacing him with this artless hack he had no idea, but Gelert's air of smugness confirmed that he had in fact contemplated it. Had, and almost certainly acted on it. "Last time a man thought he could take my seat...what did we do to him, Usk, do you remember?"

"Bollocked him," Usk intoned. He gaze was flat and angry. "Had a good long talk. And then sent all his missing pieces to his mother in jars of spirit vinegar."

"That's the one." Arlen snapped his fingers. "Get out of my seat, Gelert. I can use a knife just as well as I always have."

"After so long?" Gelert faked concern, but he got out of the chair. Arlen hadn't expected it to be quite that easy, but then a familiar crackling made itself known, hovering around his shoulder. Jordan's eyes glowed brighter than ever inside his hood, and he was directing his unnerving luminescent glare at Gelert.

Arlen couldn't stop himself grinning. Gelert's face contorted, and then he leaned in to hiss, "I'll have your seat out from under you before long, Blackheart. You just fucking watch me."

"No thanks." Arlen planted himself firmly in the seat Gelert had vacated, after making a show of wiping it down with the edge of his cloak. "I get enough headaches as it is."

Jordan settled on one side of him, with Usk another seat down as Gelert stormed off with one more venomous glance their way. Arlen let out a quiet breath. He was sure it would have stopped short of a brawl. Marick rarely tolerated fighting ahead of a guild meeting, and never tolerated the use of weapons inside his hall. Yet the chance had been there, and if Usk had needed to step in and help Arlen win it, it would undermine his case for leadership before he'd even made it. It would show that the loss of his leg had brought him down several pegs.

And he was no longer confident that Marick would take his side.

"Nice one, kid," he muttered. His worries couldn't entirely erase the pride he felt. He was not conceited enough to think it was all down to his efforts that the boy had grown a spine, but he could take pride in his choice of apprentice. He could give himself that much, that his gut instinct was still serving him. Nict knew he'd come to doubt it in recent weeks.

"Was that true?" Jordan mumbled back. "About the vinegar?"

Arlen looked at him, evaluating. "No."

He met Usk's eye over the witch man's head, and the Varthian stifled a snort with a mouthful of beer. He felt more than saw Jordan scowl. "You're lying, aren't you?"

"That wasn't your smartest move," a woman's voice spoke behind them. Ashe lounged on the bar behind Jordan's chair, but her dark eyes were on Gelert's back across the room. "He'll just add that to his huge list of grievances against you."

"My alternative was conceding to him and showing everyone else I was accepting a drop in rank. Which I'm not," Arlen snapped back. "What do you care, anyway? He'll wallop you if he finds you over here speaking to me."

"No he won't," she said. She picked at her nails, and glared at the girl who came to serve the three of them beers. Arlen sniffed it and took an experimental sip first. When he found no notable trace of poison, he took a drink. Unless Marick intended him to drop dead in front of the whole guild in five minutes' time, it was unlikely he'd been spiked with any of the undetectable varieties. "We've had a falling out."

"A falling out?" Arlen asked, intrigued enough to dismiss the contemplation of his own doom for the time being. "Or a falling out?"

"Latter," Ashe replied. Her finger traced almost accidentally across the shoulder of Jordan's jacket as she sat up. "We weren't seeing eye to eye on a lot of things."

"Like visiting me?" Arlen drawled.

"He doesn't know about that," she snapped. "And you know he doesn't. Shut up." She paused for a moment, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on her face. Arlen had never found Ashe particularly thoughtful. Ashe was more of an 'explode first, ask questions later' sort of person. He supposed, thinking of Raziel, that if one already had an obsession with blowing things up, underthinking came with the territory. Both Ashe and Raziel had made loud noises, horrible smells and rubble of varying materials and colours an art form.

"What do you want?" Akiva asked, sauntering over. Casually, he handed Jordan a blackweed cigarette, which the kid only hesitated over for a split second. Ashe bristled at his unabashed staring.

"Who said I'd talk to you?" she retorted.

"Kiv," Arlen said, when Akiva looked like he was prepared to start a fight wholeheartedly. The assassin subsided, untroubled. For the years he had known Akiva, Arlen had come to suspect that the man rarely got truly angry, and picked fights more out of enjoyment than anything else. He turned to look at Ashe. "You were talking to me, though. And if you didn't want something, you probably would have spit in my drink and disappeared by now, so what is it?"

She fidgeted. "Gelert kicked me out."

Arlen blinked. That was a surprise. The set of her jaw dared him to ask her why, but he wouldn't. Not here, at least. "And that's my problem, how?"

"Tit for tat," she said quietly. "I've helped you, you help me."

"I paid you on one of those occasions."

Her mouth worked. "Have it back, then! See if I care." She looked around at the hall and then leaned in. "I don't have a group, Arlen. Gelert won't keep it secret that I'm not in his favour anymore, and he won't protect me if the lackeys..." She trailed off.

"What?" Jordan asked, as if he couldn't help himself. "Protect you from what?"

Ashe sneered at him. "You wouldn't even have to consider it. You try being a woman in this crowd. See how long you last, magic boy."

"Oh." Jordan looked around. "That's barbaric."

"Arlen," Ashe muttered. Her voice wasn't quite pleading, but it was as close as he'd ever heard it. He couldn't deny that it gave him a small measure of satisfaction. Ashe had flourished under Gelert's protection and used it to be smart with a lot of Devils who wouldn't have tolerated it otherwise, including him. She was a compact weapon of a woman, and would undoubtedly be a useful addition to his group. The problem was, he couldn't think of a single compelling reason she'd want to join his group over any others that didn't involve spying on him for Marick or Gelert. If she was trying to join from any other group he would not have been nearly as suspicious.

She saw it. "Just promise me we'll talk later, at least. Don't say no yet."

Arlen paused for a moment longer. "Deal."

Sounding as though she was forcing it out past vomit, she uttered a curt thank you and slipped down from the bar. She settled on a bench within sight of him if he looked over his shoulder.

Arlen leaned down and rubbed pins and needles from his stump under the guise of adjusting the strap, stifling a grimace. Though the new leg had been a vast improvement – he thought he might be able to abandon the walking stick before too long – the stump was still not fully healed. He also used it as a chance to hide any feelings that might be showing too plainly on his face. Of all the things he could have anticipated from this meeting, the conversation he had just had with Ashe wouldn't have even featured on his list of possibilities. Had he been the reason she had fallen out with Gelert? It would have been lying to suggest that that didn't also make him feel smug.

He looked up as Marick entered the room, crossing the dais and sitting down with so little fanfare that it took a moment for everyone to cotton on. His cold blue gaze appraised them all, resting for a time on Arlen. He forced himself not to break it, and after what seemed an interminable length of time, he received a nod of acknowledgement. He didn't miss that Gelert also received one, but the honour didn't seem to pacify the man's outrage that Arlen still received one first. Jordan was tense beside him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Marick began, without preamble and without his usual level of showmanship. "I have called you here tonight for a vote. I've been approached with a contract for us, but it would require each and every one of you to swear secrecy and avoid interfering. That includes not taking advantage of the chaos this contract may cause if successfully acted upon."

Arlen straightened, interest piqued. Most of the Devils lurked in the shadows at the edges of the hall, but the few faces he could see registered confusion. Gelert's gaze was insufferably smug across the room, undoubtedly knowing of this plan before Arlen had even been made aware of the offer.

"I am calling a vote because it is possible that it could incite Lord Harkenn to action against us. However, the rewards would be rich, and they would be shared out between you all as an incentive for...cooperation. An extra payment allotted, of course, to anyone who helps with the job." A chill smile flickered across his face. "The job is this – we are to use the resources available to us to break the Baron Ethred out of Harkenn's jail."

The words rang in the quiet that suddenly seemed thick and tangible. Marick allowed the idea to settle for a moment. The uneasiness, Arlen suspected, was not so much around the job itself, but the secrecy under which it would have to be undertaken. It was a given that Devils involved in high-profile crimes didn't advertise it across the city, but this was the first time Marick had ever specified that it was required. It smacked of far more to the plan than he had said aloud – a plan that some wouldn't like when the fullness was revealed. After all, Arlen had killed the previous Head of House Orthan and there hadn't been a vote on that. He suspected that half the guild didn't even know for sure that he had committed it.

It was that, or Marick was testing the waters for revealing that he had already decided these contracts. Arlen would have bet a small fortune that he knew who was paying.

"Who?" someone said, from somewhere in the shadows. "Who's paying for this?"

Marick's mouth thinned into a flat line of displeasure. "The partner has asked to remain anonymous. As many do."

His tone brooked no further argument, but the silence in the room was distinctly uneasy. Arlen set his walking stick between his knees and surreptitiously looked around. He was alarmed to find several gazes on him, and was careful not to acknowledge them. There was no way Marick would miss that, and there was no mystery around what he'd conclude from it.

"A vote, then," Marick said. "It is a lucrative contract. It could give us good ties and access to the wealthiest House in Nictaven. We have done jailbreaks before."

Two serving girls entered and went to either side of the room to pass out voting chips from sacks. Arlen accepted his with a nod, the thin chip of stone cold against his palm. The result must truly matter to Marick, to use a voting system that he hadn't needed since the start of his reign. He must truly fear retribution for reading the mood wrong. If others sniffed out this sign of Marick's insecurity, he couldn't see it. That didn't mean it wasn't there.

He leaned in to Jordan, who was staring at the chip in his hand in bewilderment. "A box is going to come round in a minute. Right slot for agreement, left slot for disagreement."

"It's anonymous, right?" Jordan whispered back.

Arlen lowered his voice further. "Yes. If you know how to hide your vote from anyone sitting behind you. If you don't think you can do that, I would strongly advise playing safe."

Gaging the mood of the room, he didn't think that Jordan's vote would make the difference either way. There was too much uncertainty, and Arlen didn't doubt that Marick would want to know which way Jordan voted. He would use it as a way to gage how Arlen voted. Looking at his employer up on the dais, his face stoic as the box came out in the arms of a third serving girl, Arlen wondered for the first time if Marick actually would check. Or was he so certain of Arlen's unconditional support that he wouldn't? With no small amount of chagrin, he recalled how long it had taken him to entertain the possibility that Marick was making plans without him – a long time after Usk had first broached the topic. Even longer after Marick had started making plans for Jordan without consulting him. He had no idea what his employer had planned for his own apprentice. He had just accepted the boy, and continued to carry out even the most dangerous of jobs on Marick's simple request, and blithely ignored every warning sign that came at him.

He had been incredibly blind. And foolish. He had vowed never to trust anyone that much, and yet he had never examined his loyalty to Marick; how much trust that had entailed. And now it was coming back to bite him.

When the box reached his chair, he flipped the stone chip in one hand three times and caught it quickly with the other. He passed it across the box in his lap, swapping hands again. As it thunked into the bottom, he would have challenged anyone to confidently tell him which slot he'd put it in. Jordan, to his relief, had understood his warning and slipped his chip into 'agree', even though he made a quiet noise like he wanted to be sick as he did so.

As Usk took the box and cast his vote, Arlen leaned over again. "Results will be tomorrow night, once we're sure everyone's voted and no one cast more than one. Meantime, kid, I think you should be getting back."

Jordan fidgeted. "They're probably not back from the temple fire yet."

Tempted as Arlen was to hold the boy back – just to see what Yddris would do about it – the sky outside was quickly lightening into full daytime. It was already a risk. As the light season progressed, their training hours would become more and more limited. Arlen had hoped to do more tonight, but the meeting had eaten up too much time. It was much later than normal, and he suspected it was to allow Gelert's crew time to get back from sabotaging House Kiel.

"Usk, can you get him back?" he asked over Jordan's head. Ashe was already staring at him when he glanced back over his shoulder. He offered her a curt nod.

It didn't look like his day was going to be relaxing, either.

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)