Day Two
“Oh, for fiddle-staves’ sake!” Butcher winced aloud.
Tentpole, Butcher and Winky stood outside the main entrance of the straedoù which housed their hideout. The black of night had descended upon Tremallan as the rain grew ever heavier, and the water in the alleyways was running cold up past their ankles. But there they were, clearly marked – three sigils scrawled on the wall beside the entryway in wet-resistant chalk.
Do not enter. Go to Hideout L. Immediately.
“And she had to pick the dampest, dirtiest, dingiest, nearest dog-diddled meeting spot, didn’t she? That prissy little Miss Legible Sigils…”
Grumble as she might, Butcher was still the one to turn around first and lead the way, sending water spraying with each of her huffy, exaggerated stomps. Most of the cityfolk had taken shelter by now, but the crabs were out in full effect. Minds scrambled by the aetheric agitations, they marched forward in straight lines across the cobbles and up the sides of buildings.
For all her show of impatience, Butcher still led them upslope in a roundabout way, pausing in sheltered alcoves to make sure they weren’t followed and muttering nonsensical curses as she clutched at Winky for warmth. Even so, it was only a few minutes later that she pulled open a cellar hatch at the side of a relatively squat warehouse. Wooden shacks sprouted from its thick slate roof like mushrooms. As she closed it behind them, Tentpole rummaged in an open crate and pulled out three freshly-filled oil lamps and a flint-and-metal striking stone he used to light them one-handed. Still grumbling, Butcher snatched hers and led them to the back of the room, where she pulled aside some disused, half-rotting planks to reveal a narrow passage shin-deep in salt water.
The disused furnace it opened out into, however, was blissfully dry. The soot-blackened walls sloped up to a great chimney overhead. Because they were so thick, the rain pelting against them was greatly muffled. But because the chamber was so wide and bare and bell-like, the soft plinking of the raindrops overlapped into a queer, echoing, hundredfold hum.
Mistress sat waiting for them on a crate. One leg dangled down in front of her, and the other, she hugged tight against her chest, chin propped on her knee. Butcher kept her mumbling low as she quietly kicked open the room’s other crate, pulled out blanket after blanket, stripped, wrapped herself up in them, rearranged some of the oil lamps to hang around her from the iron pegs jutting out of the wall, and plopped onto a mat of rushes on the floor.
The sense of relief radiated from Tentpole’s face, but after opening and closing his mouth a few times, he too removed his boots and dark sea-yak overcoat, took a blanket, and lay back against the wall, Winky settling down beside him.
The silence and the otherworldly hum and the warmth and the dryness and the gentle swaying of their dim orange light and the sudden sense of safety after the shock and awe of that evening all conspired to dull Winky’s mind to dreaming. As Tentpole and Mistress traded accounts of the evening’s events, her eyes drooped and she rode crabs through the clouds with all of Tremallan and Mitjorn flashing by beneath her. The next time her eyes drifted open, Mikka stood in the centre of the room.
Winky slapped herself a few times to wake up. She pulled her hands back from her stinging cheeks and noticed all the water run down Mikka’s dark blue garments and into the briny passage in rivulets, leaving him and the floor around him dry. But what really made her uncomfortable was that, for the very first time since she had first seen him, Mikka’s face was devoid of any trace of a smile or smirk.
Tentpole jerked up to his feet. Butcher groaned and sunk into her pile of blankets. For the first time since they had entered, Mistress’ eyes scanned upwards from where they had been fixed onto the floor, and lit upon the drawstring sack of dark cotton at his hip.
“You actually brought it with you,” she whispered in a dull, dangerous tone.
“I did.” Mikka’s voice too was strange, stripped of its usual cheer.
“Where’s Oneface?”
“I gave him a job. He won’t be coming here tonight.”
“What is that thing?”
“It’s an artefact I stole from the S–”
“Besides that. What is this idol of yours actually?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you steal it, then?”
“I was asked to.”
“By whom? When have you ever done anyone else’s bidding? What did they offer? What could they possibly have that you couldn’t just take?”
Mikka’s reply put an end to her questions by answering none of them.
“Taking it out of the Sect is the entire reason I came to this island.”
Mistress’ scowl deepened.
“What do you want from us?” she snarled.
“I want you to keep hold of it for me.”
“Is that why you brought us together in the first place? This whole year? Just for this?”
Mikka didn’t answer her immediately. Mistress clicked her tongue.
“Never mind,” she said. “How long do you need us to keep it for?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If you were dying of thirst, I’d throw you in salt water, Mikka. Why not keep hold of it yourself? Why not just hide it?”
“Can’t think of anywhere safe.” He paused. “I’m no good with wards, so I have to use the city walls. And it’s so crowded in here, there’s nowhere I can leave it where somebody wouldn’t step on it. Besides, now that it has been activated, it’ll be easier to hide if we keep it moving.” He took in a breath. “And I’m going to need to stay hidden. To track the movements of others, and not be tracked by them while I do it. I need to travel light, and don’t want anything that will bring eyes on me.” He tilted his head a fraction – first to one side, then the other. “And when I eventually do come out of the shadows, I’m going to be making myself quite visible. I don’t want to bring everyone piling down on me when that happens. And if I’m carrying it on me, they would.”
“Do you need it out in the open and at large for some reason? In Tremallan specifically? Why? To draw attention away from you? To draw someone out?”
Mikka still seemed to be thinking it through when Mistress got the sense he wouldn’t answer. She was still perfectly in control of her faculties, but chose not to keep the anger out of her voice.
“We don’t know what we’re up against here, Mikka. If sorcerors come after us, the whole playbook’s out. We don’t know what they can see. What they can see through. For all we know, they’re watching and hearing everything we’re doing now, from miles away.”
Mikka shook his head.
“Back at the hideout, I wasn’t sure. But no one who would be interested in taking it is looking or listening in now. As for later, this sack will disguise the Idol pretty well. From a distance, it will mask it almost perfectly. But the truth is that the real players won’t be the ones coming for it. Certainly not for the next few days. After last night’s lightshow, they’ll be trickling into town when the gates open – but they’ll lie in wait, watch as things unfold, and only strike when they know who else is waiting to pounce and are sure they can make a safe getaway.” At some point in all this, his hand had moved to his sword, where it hung casually propped up against the hilt. “With all that said, you don’t have to worry about the sorcerers. Dealing with them is precisely why I’ll be staying hidden. That’s my end of the deal. All you have to do is keep it off the people with the pointy sticks and purses of gold.”
There was a minute’s silence.
“In an ideal world,” Mistress said slowly, “would you rather we raise a ruckus? Or keep as quiet as dead mice?”
Mikka nodded while he thought. “The more noise the mortals make,” he finally replied, “the quieter the sorcerors will be. They’ll think it’s safe so long as it’s only the peasants wrestling in the mud for it. They’ll get complacent.”
Mistress and Mikka stared at each other. The echoing hum of the raindrops grew louder as the rain lashed down. Tentpole’s mouth kept opening and shutting as he thought to speak and then thought better of it, on repeat. Butcher leaned onto her side, disappearing into her blankets. In the end, it was Mikka who spoke up.
“So you’ll do it?”
“…when the escalation comes, it will be immediate,” Mistress whispered without a trace of anger in her voice. “In one moment, we will be sitting pretty on some rooftop. And in the next, we will be dead. Or considerably worse.”
This time, Mikka barely waited for the echoes to be washed away before breaking the silence.
“So you’ll do it?”
“What on earth’s in it for us?”
He rubbed his chin with the hand which wasn’t resting lazily on the hilt of his sword. Then his stance shifted. Though he did not speak any louder, his voice boomed around the room.
“What do you want? More than anything else in the world?” He looked around at each of them in turn. “Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you. Anything. All of you.”
No one said anything, but he nodded as if approving their reaction, and continued.
“When everything’s settled, I promise to stick around the island for however long you held onto the goods for. For each of you, individually. If it’s a week, I’ll give every one of you a week. If it’s a month, I’ll stay a month. If I need time to recover, I won’t count that as part of the deal. During that time, I’ll be your hired hand. I’ll set you up for life. Take you anywhere you want. Do anything that’s in my power. In one day, I can make you a merchant lord. In a week, the lord of all the Isle. That’s what’s in it for you.”
Mistress frowned. After a minute, she leaned back. Winky let out a breath. From the moment they walked into the room, Mistress had held them in her grip without their even realising it. And the moment her head touched the wall behind her and her eyes drooped closed, she released them. Mikka turned to Tentpole.
“Will you really be leaving the island, Mikka? Once this is over?”
There were tears welling up in the young man’s eyes. Mikka let out a slow exhale and shrugged.
“I haven’t thought about it. But there will be nothing tying me here anymore. The first wind which catches my interest will surely carry me away.”
The moments dragged on, and Winky thought Mikka was being very cruel. But she noticed he never looked away from Tentpole – never flinched from the emotions there. And Tentpole didn’t press him for an answer. And so, she was no longer so sure.
“I’m sorry, Mikka. You never said you’d stay. You just kept turning up. I’m the one who never asked. How long you’d be around. What you were here for. Because I was scared you might tell me what I feared. What I already knew.” Tentpole wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it. I owe you everything. You don’t have to give me anything. All I have is thanks to you.”
Mikka nodded very slowly and turned to Butcher. The bundle of blankets rustled, and then rustled again. An eye peeped out from under them. It flicked from Mikka to Winky – the only people who were looking at her – before being covered up once again.
“What did Oneface say?” Her voice came out muffled from her fortress of bedding.
“He’s in.”
“I’ll have you know I think the whole thing stinks. From top to bottom. Start to stop. Ass to vomithole.”
“So you’ll do it?”
The eye peeked back out from a crack in the covers.
“…you’ll really do anything I ask? For however long we can hold out for?”
“Yes.”
“So if I ask you to give me everything Itronne Varta owns, you’ll do it?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ll simply take anything you point me to. And as to her deeds and rights and hidden assets, I’ll walk up to her and make her sign them over. It’ll take ten minutes.”
“And if I ask for a potion to make me live a thousand years?”
“I’ll take you to an alchemist on the continent. I can think of a couple just now. They’ll let you know how it works, you’ll pick your poison, and I’ll go off and fetch whomever’s grave fungus they want to trade it for.”
The eye did not hide back under the covers.
“So you’ll do it?”
“I’m not doing anything dangerous! If I think I’ll lose so much as a fingernail, I’ll drop it all and not look back!”
“That’s fine. I’ll pay you back for however long you held out for. So you’ll do it?”
“Yes, alright, fine! I’ll do it already! Just don’t complain if I wring you dry! I’m not gonna let you sleep when it’s my turn!”
Mikka nodded and turned to Winky. Her stomach was tying itself in knots. He waved her concern away. Don’t overthink it, it said. Just say what’s on your mind.
“I’m still not sure. Is it alright if I see how it goes for a while?”
“That’s fine. If you walk, will you sell any of us out?”
“No! No, I definitely won’t do that, no matter what!”
“Then you play it by ear.” He paused, and his gaze went distant. He seemed to be weighing something up – but when he chuckled and returned to his surroundings, it seemed more like he’d been enjoying a daydream. “How about this? I’ll send you out of town for the day. You won’t come to any danger there. I want you to deliver a message.”
Mistress was still leaning back against the wall, eyes lightly shut. Butcher was muttering a string of curses under her breath which she was clearly regretting missing her chance to shout aloud. Tentpole gave Winky a slow nod which told her he thought that would be easiest for everyone. So Winky nodded at Mikka, who whispered something she knew no one else could hear. She could not really hear it either, but words and images flew through her mind like a flock of birds whooshing just overhead.
Mikka finally turned back to Mistress. All the hardness, the coldness, the simmering fury had seeped out of her. He finally felt at ease, but did not do her the dishonour of showing it. Winky, he hadn’t factored into his plans anyway. Butcher, he had expected to be unreliable. It was Tentpole he was most unsure about – though if he had dared reflect on it, he would have known the boy would follow him out of love and loyalty no matter what he did. Mistress, although she would be the only one to argue, was, in the end, always going to be the easiest to convince.
“You know I need the money,” she finally said. “You know why I’ve been bloodletting the silver from the veins of Tremallan’s merchants for a year.”
Mikka nodded. “By the time I leave the island, the debts will have been cleared.”
His eyes flicked over to Tentpole one last time. A dark cloud seemed to pass over them. Then he turned around. There was a gust of wind. Winky instinctively flinched. When her eyes blinked back open, Mikka was gone, leaving only the dark drawstring sack standing in the centre of the room.
David Leon 