Slicing wind grabbed Lapis’s coat and yanked; she hunched over and squinted against the tiny bits of snow pelting her face. While the Lells had gusts from time to time, she rarely witnessed the extended blast that made walking outside a Pitish experience.
Patch slipped his arm around her torso and pulled her to him, a failing attempt to protect her from the frozen touch. He held his hood on and his collar up with the same hand, but, because of his patch, he had the luxury of closing his eye and letting the tech guide him. He squeezed and drew her under the awning of a closed store, where they huddled in the doorway as yet another gust sent snow careening and signs squeaking. Few but miserable late-night workers—and janks—hurried down the streets, intent on grabbing a bite for their break before they braved the terrible weather and hastened to job.
The number of janks worried her. They clustered in groups throughout the Lells, hands in pockets, heads together, their thick black coats flapping in the wind. Why were they out? Unease filled her, and she pressed closer to her partner.
“There’s a lot of them,” she whispered.
“Too many,” he agreed. “They know something’s happening here tonight, just not what. I wonder where they’re getting their info from.”
She rubbed her running nose. Someone in the underground fed them tidbits, and her mind returned to the Beryl. Few would stoop to give Dentherions anything; hatred ran deep in shank and syndicate circles. But the Beryl did not seem to care about tradition and unspoken rules concerning the criminal element.
“Let’s get to Curly Cues,” Patch said as a fine shudder ran through him. “They’ve been open late this entire freeze so the unfortunate have a warm shelter. We can get a bite to eat and see if the shopkeep has any news.”
Curly Cues was a shop on the edge of the Lells, not far from the Overroute. The owner had a long history of opening his storage basement to the needy when the nights turned too bitter for the average Grey and Stones Street residents. Rats who had no heat in their cubbies would go there, along with the poorest workers who needed some sleep in a warmer abode before they traipsed to work the next day. Maydie and Movique shrugged when the city guards said something about late-night permits and ignored the demand for a bribe so Curly Cues could continue operating. It became a tense situation, but when Sir Armarandos took over, the push for the permit disappeared.
They hustled inside the oven-lit store, basking in the sudden heat that pummeled them. Lucky them, no one else braved the night to buy bread; the upper shop held a bored woman baking delicious sugary treats, while noise drifted up from the basement. She looked up and smiled, walked to the counter, and leaned on the glass that stood between the customers and the food.
“Buyin’ or stayin’?” she asked.
“Buying,” Patch said with a smile. She nodded, her gaze flicking briefly behind them, then spread her hands and slid them across the streak-free surface. “This’s what we got, with some stuffed sausages in the warmer.”
Lapis glanced out the door; janks stood in a cluster, hands in pockets, hunched, and taking an unwarranted interest in the store. “Trouble?” she asked.
“Nah. They’s doin’ that t’ all the custom,” the woman said with a sigh. “Scarin’ ‘m fer no reason. They were suspicious of us puttin’ up them downstairs,” and she pointed down, “but we told ‘m we always put up some who couldn’t get no heat durin’ these colder nights. Rather that, than them freezin’.”
“I don’t think Dentherions understand that kind of generosity,” Lapis said.
She snorted. “Don’t I knows it,” she muttered, her fingers drumming on the glass. “Heard the smithy Shawe got into it with ‘m, as they were hasslin’ those wantin’ t’ get warm.
“Shawe’s not one to suffer a jank,” Patch murmured. He tapped at the crunchy squares of thin bread with spicy seasoning. “Bag of those. Lanth?”
She peered at the spread, focusing more on the reflection of figures in the glass than to the actual food. One stepped towards the store, another grabbed their arm, and an argument ensued. Hopefully they entertained each other while she perused the offerings.
Viewing dark breads, light breads, pastries with dribbled icing, stuffed bowls with crinkled edges, and crackers with various seasonings made her drool. She pondered what she wanted, but as usual, the sweets drew her attention. They had cupcakes, round cakes, and long donuts with thin icing, tarts and wraps, but the twists looked fresher than the rest, and she hoped they still had a tinge of warmth.
“I’ll have the sweet twist,” she said, pointing to the batch slathered with butter and baking-spice flavoring on top.
“And two of the sausages,” Patch added. The woman retrieved their meal with tongs and a smile, then motioned to the tables and chairs still set up for customers.
“If you want to eat here, take a seat,” she said. “Doubt them janks’re comin’ in. Owner yelled at ‘m, said if they’s intimidatin’ our custom, he’d beat the difference outta them. I thought they’d cart him to jail over that, but they just glared and walked away.”
Considering the state of the city guard, they had no one to call, and no Grey Streets magister would allow them to stuff a law-abiding business owner in a cell over minute threats. Lapis accepted the food and scurried to the table furthest from the door. Patch sauntered over as a shadowy figure raced to the door and skidded inside, along with a hefty dose of bitter cold.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, stamping his boots on the mat and pushing his snow-coated hood from his eyes. A blue glow faded from beneath his eyelids, leaving them glazed white. Lapis half-expected the woman to recoil from an obviously tech-enchanced man, but she grinned wide instead.
“Aye, Tamor. Wantin’ t’ freeze me outta my own work?”
“It’s colder than the Pit,” he agreed, then smiled broadly. “Lanth! Patch! Mind if I join you?”
“Plenty of room,” Patch said, indicating the third, vacant chair.
Tamor went to the counter and ordered far more munchies than one man might eat on a lonely binge, then shuffled to them, laden down by the humongous bag the woman loaned him.
He set the pack down and plopped into the seat with a weary sigh. He leaned over and patted down the scrunched top. “For the group at the Overroute. That’s where you’re headed?”
Patch nodded, and Lapis swallowed before answering. “We were told we’re an honor guard.”
His subdued laugh hinted he felt the same. “Not that it isn’t an honor,” he said in a low, intense tone. “Came to see the jank situation. One of the guards said Denthie backup arrived at the Lells. Thought it was odd and Gera thought I should have a peek.”
“They’re on every corner,” Patch agreed.
“Don’t I know it. I caught some of the conversation; they know something’s going on at the Lells tonight. What they think that is, I couldn’t say, but they’re antsy and suspicious.”
“Can we redirect the new arrivals?” Lapis asked. The punch of bad feeling turned her tummy sour, and she fought to shove food into her mouth rather than spit it out and shudder. The meal was tasty, with salt and sweet competing for favorite flavor on her tongue, and she did not want the shopkeep to think she hated what they bought.
“No way to contact them,” he whispered. “Not while they’re on the platforms riding down here. Gera’s thinking that we should backtrack to the first cross-tunnel and take that way to the Intersection. We can split everyone into smaller groups there.”
“Bypassing the Lells is a good idea,” Patch said. “Especially since they think something’s going to happen. If nothing does, they’ll doubt their informant.”
“Wonder who that is.” Tamor shook his head. “There isn’t a syndicate who’s happy to have the janks sniffing around every corner, looking for trouble.”
“The Beryl?” Lapis asked.
Tamor’s subdued laugh held sarcasm and darkness. “The Beryl declared they’re a guild, not a syndicate. A guild of assassins. And they’re bragging about having palace contracts, hinting that they’ll let underbosses live if they have enough bribe money.”
“They try that with Shara?” Patch asked. More the fools them, if they did. She had the loyalty, brawn, and family connections to keep her safe from any attempt the Beryl might muster.
“No. They tried it with Double Catch. Good thing they sent a letter through a carrier rather than a shank. They’d have ended up in a sack, in pieces, and returned with hugs and kisses.” He unfurled the top and dug into the bag, withdrawing a folded paper container. He opened it and snagged a treat, one of the same crispy items Patch bought. “They’re stupid, toying with him. He isn’t fond of their boss and pushing him gets one dead.”
“Especially if they’re hooked up with Mesaale Kez?” Patch popped a crunchy into his mouth. “Claiming a guild status is an interesting way to attempt to bypass Jilvayna laws. The problem for them is that guilds aren’t allowed to take a target out, while hunters are. Klow knows that.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Tamor agreed. “But if they have a foreign patron lining their beds with metgal, I doubt they care. All their valuable assets already walked to other syndicates, so they’re left with the husks. It’s going to be hard for them to keep their reputation when their hunts all fail. Anyway, need to get these to the hungry lot suffering this cold.” He poured the crunchiness into his mouth all at once, and chowed down, the sharper edges poking at his cheeks. “I’ll tell them you’ll be waiting at the Intersection."
“We’ll see what we can find out from the janks,” Patch said.
“That would help.” Tamor rose and snagged the bag. A tink caught their attention. The woman, shaking her head, pushed a glass of water to the Minq, who grinned and drank, watering the bits down for an easier swallow. “Thanks, Zerri! See you next time!”
“Bye love,” she said, retrieving the glass. He bustled out the door, letting in another blast of cold, and she shuddered, wincing. “Can’t wait fer this cold t' end,” she muttered.
“Me too,” Lapis said.
“You gots yer own group t' keep warm,” the woman said. “’N far more rats’n what we get here. Them’s a rowdy bunch.”
Patch chuckled. “Don’t I know it.”
“As long as they’re holding a book, it’s fine,” Lapis said with a shrug.
“’Tis good, you do that fer ‘m,” she said. “Got the job here ‘cause I could manage them books, ‘n I get paid good for it. Knowin’ t’ read opens up a lot more’n they might think.”
“I’ll tell them you said that. It’s a good reminder, that better work awaits them, despite the frustrations of the present.”
“With what’s comin’? They’s gonna need t’ be more prepared.” She sucked in a breath and glanced outside; the janks had left. To follow Tamor? “My family has stories ‘bout the death of Jilvayna. Granna’s always talkin’ ‘bout it, never to forget. We’s headin’ fer rough times, so be prepared.”
“We are,” Lapis said quietly. “But some of us are working to make a better future from the hardships.” Patch stuffed the sausage in his mouth, and she hastened to eat the rest of her fare.
The woman said nothing about their sudden haste, just eyed the exterior until they rose. “Keep safe,” she cautioned. Her partner grinned, full of cocky confidence, and opened the door. Lapis waved and followed, pulling her collar up and her hood closer. She did not doubt Tamor’s ability, but having a surprise backup was nice, too.
