Chapter Six. Gin
CHAPTER SIX
GIN
The two Ophir strangers stare back at me. All of us are breathing heavily. I’m unsure what to do—take them both on and risk almost certain death? Cut my losses and try to escape?
But I already know. I didn’t come this far to let that treasure go.
I pick up one of the discarded swords so now I have blades in both hands just like my opponent.
The two strangers glance at one another, then back at me.
Then the most unexpected thing happens. Their shoulders relax.
The taller one’s hood falls; he has black hair that falls over his forehead, thick eyelashes over deep brown eyes.
He sheathes his sword and puts his arms up, palms out in front of him.
“Whoa,” he says. His partner, a bit smaller, short, with home-shorn brown hair, follows the other’s lead and puts his blade away as well.
I squint at them. What game are they playing? I keep my weapons ready and check the area behind and around, in case I’m about to be ambushed by more unexpected strangers. I want to turn around and look, but I’m afraid to take my eyes off them.
The tall one with the brown eyes and broad shoulders takes a couple of steps forward.
I lunge, warning him. “Stay back,” I growl. “Or I’ll cut you.”
A whistle shrieks in the distance. All our heads turn toward the sound. An alarm. We all meet each other’s eyes again. The Blackcoats are coming. There’s no time for a fight.
Though they’re all tensed up and ready to run, no one makes the first move.
The tall one who seems to be the leader glances at his friend. The friend nods back to him. Something’s been agreed. “How about we call it even and split the loot?” the tall one offers, arms still held out in front of him.
“What?” I exclaim aloud without meaning to. This has to be some kind of trick. It’s two against one. No one offers to split when they can take it all. “No,” I tell him.
He looks at his friend quizzically, who shrugs in response. “We should split it now,” he repeats. “Or no one gets anything.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why are you offering to share? Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies, shaking his head. “Look, we all want to go home in one piece, right?” When I don’t answer, he tries again. “All right, fine. I’m Eban.” Then he gestures to his friend. “And this is Vergel.”
The one called Vergel raises his hand in a slight wave and says “Hello” in Ophir.
They’re both young—my age—although Vergel looks a little younger.
A combination snort and laugh escapes me, despite my misgivings.
“I’m sorry, this is ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head.
“This was our job.” When I say our, I remember Aris is lying dead behind me.
My heart clenches. The old man didn’t deserve to die this way, bleeding on the street.
I can’t think about that right now. Not until this is over and I’m somewhere safe and away with the treasure.
The whistle blares again.
“Look, normally, I’d argue the same, and I’m far from the generous type, but we need to move.” His eyes go to Aris’s body. “And I’m sorry about your father.”
“Why? You didn’t kill him,” I snarl. “And he’s not my father.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Still, there’s no need for more bloodshed. We can all benefit here.” He motions at the barrel with his raised hand. “Let’s just split whatever’s in there and call it a day. I’m sure there’s enough in there for all of us. Cut our losses.”
I stare at him, unsure of what to do.
In the distance, the sound of boots echoes through the inner streets of the Sleeve. The Blackcoats are on the way.