Fourteen
First,” Ky says, “we shower.”
I’m familiar with the concept, but I’ve never taken one; back home we just use a tin bath outside the back door.
Here the showerhead is on the catwalk outside our room, with only a patchwork rag curtain for modesty.
I sit outside while Ky strips down to make sure nobody tries to take advantage.
It’s late enough that it’s starting to get early, and traffic on the street below is getting denser.
I can see vendors setting up their little carts, people hauling goods in wheelbarrows, steam starting to rise from hundreds of tiny chimneys as the early-morning shifts prepare breakfast. Behind me, the sound of water splashing across Ky’s body is endlessly distracting.
Once she’s done, it’s my turn. The water is lukewarm, but it blasts into my face with enough pressure to make me gasp.
The cake of hard soap takes oily dirt off me in chunks.
By the time I emerge I feel cleaner than I ever have in my life, and I grimace at the necessity of putting my sweat- and blood-stained clothes back on.
Ky is already dressed and rapidly braiding her hair, which she’s brushed to a breathtaking sheen.
It makes a club-thick tail down to the small of her back when she’s done.
“We’re going to visit my fixer,” she says as we descend the stairs on the outside of the building. “He’ll have the info we need.”
“If you’re from Hod, why do you have a fixer on Malkuth?”
“Because I wasn’t a particularly good little girl,” she says, grinning wickedly. “It’s a good thing, too. I’d never have gotten away without his help. We just need to have a little chat about some things.”
Star rides in my pack, primary optics protruding so he can look around.
Back home, where runics are less common, I’m usually more cautious with him.
But here on Malkuth they’re everywhere. Some are the same simple models I’ve seen in the market, big and slow, made to lift and carry and not much else.
Others are more intricate, in a fantastic variety of designs, often with decorative outer plates that evoke some sort of animal.
Cats and dogs, bugs and pigs, even fish and birds, though I’ve never heard of a runic that can properly fly. Or swim, for that matter.
As we pick our way through the crowded streets, I even see a couple of them fighting.
There’s no official arena, just a circle of pavement a meter wide surrounded by shouting men and women clutching fistfuls of bits.
Between them, two runics barely bigger than my outstretched hand nip and tear at each other.
One is two-legged, with a beak-like projection tipped with a steel spike, while the other has an insectoid frame more like Star’s.
The insect is getting the worst of it, sigils popping inside it in sprays of red sparks.
It’s not very different from watching that turtle-runic fight the idiot.
The two machines don’t block or dodge; they just lurch forward and tear into each other, then back off to try again.
Their masters, standing behind them, keep yelling commands: “Attack! Forward! Back, back, rear up! Attack, attack!”
Picturing Star in that fight, I appreciate Ky’s point.
If I had to manage Star that way in a fight against a Twisted, we’d both be dead.
And the amount of money that changes hands is shocking, too.
Malkuth may be poor compared to Yesod, but everyone here is throwing around bits in a way that makes my eyes water.
Maybe Ky’s plan of winning cash in runic fights isn’t completely crazy.
“We’ll have time for that later,” Ky says, piloting me away when she notices me staring.
“How much later?” I say. “I’m going to need to go back down before long, just so my family doesn’t think I’m dead.”
“You have family?” she says, a little too quickly. “Girlfriend, boyfriend? Kids?”
“A brother and sister,” I say, and I’m sure I detect a hint of relief in her face. “Or as good as. We’re all orphans, and we grew up together.”
“Who raised you?”
“Fara. She was…” I hesitate. I’ve never been exactly sure how to describe her—somewhere between mother and oldest sister. “She used to take care of us.”
“Used to?”
“She died.”
“Oh.” Ky looks over her shoulder at me. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s all right.” I shrug to cover the ache in my heart. “Now it’s just the three of us.”
“We’ll get you back to them by this afternoon,” she says breezily. “I just need your help with one little thing.”
We pass out of the densely packed residential area and into a district of large, blocky buildings with big doors and no windows.
Warehouses, at a guess. Most of them have skylights to admit at least a little illumination from the fake sunlight overhead.
Ky takes us down a side street and points out a shabby-looking example at the end.
“That’s Weslai’s place,” she says. “Can your climbing gear get us up to the roof?”
“Why the roof?”
“Best way to sneak in.”
“I thought—”
“I’ll explain later. Can you do it or not?”
I contemplate. It’s not too high, and going up is easier than coming down. Still, one of my gloves is already failing, and my limbs ache at the thought of carrying her weight.
“Maybe if we had a rope or something—” I cut off as Ky produces a coil of tightly wound cord from her satchel. “Is that some kind of magic trick?”
“Just good planning. This is my run-for-it bag. I had a hunch I might need to go out my window.”
“You might have mentioned that when we did go out your window.”
“I… may not have been thinking straight.” She blushes slightly and looks away in a frankly adorable fashion. “Sorry.”
The rope makes things simple. Star takes hold of one end and skitters up the walls, tying a deft knot to attach it to a protruding chimney.
Ky watches him thoughtfully, and now I can guess why; it’s impossible to imagine the runics we saw in the street doing anything as complicated as tying a knot.
She gives the cord a suspicious tug, but it holds.
The flat roof is made of corrugated metal that shudders under our footsteps. One of the panes in the skylight is already shattered, and Ky flips the rope to hang down through it. I can see shelves and piles of crates below, disused and thick with dust.
“Okay,” Ky says. “We’ll go down nice and quiet. When we find Weslai, I need Star to hold him still while I beat the shit out of him.”
“I thought you said this guy was your fixer.”
“He is.”
“And he’s going to help us?”
“He will.”
“But you’re going to beat the shit out of him.”
“I need to make the nature of our relationship clear to him.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Stars, I sound like Somi.
“Yes,” Ky says, and shimmies down the rope.
[Query: are we going along with this?]
I don’t see that we have much alternative.
[Unease: her judgment is suspect.]
Tell me about it. Just… be cautious. Don’t actually hurt anyone if you don’t have to.
[Dubious.]
But Star wraps his legs around the rope and slides down. I follow.
This part of the warehouse clearly hasn’t been used in a while, and we leave trails of footprints in the dust. I can’t even tell what’s in the various crates and sacks, but some of them are covered in actual mushrooms. As we creep toward the front, though, there are more signs of life.
Some bright sigwork lights illuminate a cozy little nest, with a tangled lump of blankets for a bed, a desk covered in tacked-down bits of paper, and a high-backed gilt chair that belongs in some stately Hod manor.
Various boxes and chests are scattered around, spilling a bewildering variety of goods.
I almost miss the little man in the corner.
He’s a decade older than me but not much taller, pale and blond, wearing a threadbare bathrobe that hangs on his skinny frame like a tent.
He’s standing at a basin in front of a mirror tacked to a wall of crates, splashing water into his hair and going over it a centimeter at a time with a small brush.
Ky grins. “That’s him. Can Star do that trick with the knife to the throat? Like he did to me, I mean.”
[Dubious.]
Just do it.
Star scurries forward. He slips under some crates, scrambles up the back of the mirror, and perches briefly on the top.
The fixer manages a moment of stunned horror before Star leaps forward and lands on his face.
Weslai gives a screech and reaches up to fling Star away, then freezes as he feels the very sharp blade at his neck.
Star shuffles around to the back of his head, keeping the weapon in place.
“Turn around slowly,” Ky says, striding forward.
Weslai rotates in place with arms stiff at his sides, like a mannequin on a turntable. His face is badly savaged by acne scars, and the thin blond mustache clinging to his upper lip does him no favors. His eyes widen at the sight of us, and he puts on the least sincere smile I’ve ever seen.
“Kyyyyyy,” he says.
“Hi, Weslai,” she replies.
“So good of you to, um, break into my home. How have you been?”
“Not so great. Hold very still, will you?”
His eyes flick down to Star’s blade. “I wasn’t planning on—”
Ky punches him in the jaw, snapping his head back and sending him staggering against the crates.
Before he can recover, she slams one booted foot up between his legs with a force that makes me wince.
Weslai collapses to his knees, keening, both hands clutching his groin.
Ky kneels to bring her face level with his.
“You remember the deal you set up for me, Weslai?”
“The… the marriage thing.” His voice is squeaky and tears run freely from his eyes. “Something went wrong?”
“You might say that. Have you ever met Pader Cavcante?”
The fixer shakes his head, very carefully. “No,” he squeaks. “I hear he’s a prick.”
“You weren’t going to mention that to me?”
“His father said—”
“It was just going to be a convenient alliance, right. But as soon as we were behind closed doors, Pader got all rapey.”
“Oh. Shit.” Weslai seems to want to look anywhere but into Ky’s eyes. “Are you, um, okay?”
“Thanks to Taj and his little friend, I’m only lightly strangled. He did to Pader what he’ll do to you, if I don’t like your answers.”
“Shit. He’s dead?”
“I spent most of an hour washing his arterial spray out of my hair. Yeah, he’s dead.”
“Shit. That’s… um. Are you going to kill me?”
Ky stares at him for a long moment, then heaves a sigh.
“No,” she says, sounding disappointed. “I still need your help. But you owe me big-time, Weslai, and I don’t want you to forget it.”
“Um, understood.” He lets go of his injured crotch and raises a hand to point to Star. “Can you get this thing off me?”
Ky shoots me a look. I pass an instruction to Star, and he pulls his blade away and jumps to the floor.
[Advice: tell her to warn me next time before she punches someone. I nearly slit his throat by accident.]
Noted.
Weslai takes a deep breath and slowly works his way back to his feet. When Ky approaches, he flinches, but she only pokes him in the chest.
“We have a new plan. Or, rather, a new version of the backup plan.”
“The backup—you mean the Ascent? I thought that was a joke!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Ky snaps.
“Um, no. Not at all.”
“Right.” She waves to me. “This is Taj. He has a runic.”
“You don’t say.” Weslai nods to me, rubbing his throat. “Hi, Taj.”
I clear my throat, feeling awkward, but before I can speak Ky goes on.
“The runic’s name is Star. He’s better than any runic I’ve ever seen; faster, smarter. He just needs a body to match his talents.”
Weslai, blinking, looks down at Star, who gives a cheery wave with one of his manipulators.
“His talents? Okay.”
“That means we’re going to need money,” Ky goes on. “For the body, and for the Ascent entry fee.”
Weslai’s face looks more pained than when she kicked him in the balls. “You know I can’t front you that much—”
“I know,” she says dismissively. “You’re a small-time dirtbag.”
He grins. “Hey. I’m a medium-time dirtbag these days.”
“We’re going to have to earn it in the runic fights. That’s where you come in.”
“Ahhhh.” Weslai seems to be regaining some of his confidence. He looks over at me and says, “Taj, was it? You don’t talk much.”
“Only compared to Ky,” I say.
He snorts a laugh. “Fair enough.” Weslai looks between us. “So that’s it? You want me to get you some fights?”
“Start small,” Ky says. “We’re going to have to build out Star’s body as we go.”
Weslai waves a hand. “The big-money fights only take known quantities, or else they’re rigged. You have to build a name for yourself doing king-of-the-pit first before you can get near them.”
“We need to be ready before the Ascent starts,” Ky says.
“I can ask around. Find some pits with a rich pot.” His eyebrows go up. “What’s in it for me?”
“Besides keeping your balls?” Ky snaps.
“You’re not going to get very many fights if you geld me.”
Ky rolls her eyes and purses her lips. “Fine. Three percent.”
“Ten,” Weslai says immediately.
“Are you seriously negotiating right now? Taj—”
I raise my hands in a leave me out of this gesture. Star, on the floor, mimics me.
“Fine,” Ky growls. “Five.”
“Six,” Weslai says.
“Six and you advance us enough for some basics,” Ky says. “And we’re going to need your connections to get more.”
“Of course,” Weslai says, gesturing expansively. “Anything for my, ah, favorite customer.”
Ky gives a sour nod.
“You didn’t back me up in there,” she says conversationally, once we’re outside.
“I’m not a thug.” I’ve seen too many Heapers go down the road of hurting people for money. That way you end up either dead or turning into someone like Rekas. “Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean I take your orders.”
“Hmm.” She looks at me thoughtfully, and doesn’t seem entirely displeased. “Noted. It doesn’t matter, really. I was just doing it to bust his balls.”
“Bust them more, you mean.”
She grins.
“You two have a strange relationship,” I note.
“Weslai’s all right for a miserly coward. At least he’s honest. You just have to make sure he stays motivated. Carrot and stick, right?”
“Remind me not to choose the stick.”
Ky laughs, then her face turns serious. “How long will you need for Star’s new body?”
“Three days, maybe?”
She nods. “I’ll get Weslai to arrange a fight. We can meet at the top of Stair #3.” She puts her head on one side. “Will you be able to get Star up there?”
“I’ll think of something,” I tell her.
“Here.” She hands me a small leather wallet.
It’s a Malkuth pass, a real one, embossed and signed by some Arbiter. I’d seen her get it from Weslai, but I still can’t quite believe it. Down below, I could sell this for a fair sum. Once I tuck it away, she hands me a sack heavy with bits with equal nonchalance.
“Morning of the fourth day,” she says. “I’ll be waiting.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her. And I think I mean it.