"Get out of here, boy, before I smash your bloody skull in!" Bits of chicken meat flew out of the debtor's mouth as he bellowed. It seemed the man called Ratface Roddy was in a foul mood. He tore at a roasted capon leg as he spoke. "I'll say it once more, I ain't got the coin," he admitted, scratching his hairy potbelly with his free hand. "Tell Farrescue to give me, eh … a week or two. Aye, then come back around. I'll 'ave it." He belched and tossed the fleshless capon bone at Roza's feet.
That's what you said last week, Roza retorted silently, Farrescue will snip your stones off if you don't pay him back, you know? He kept his thoughts to himself lest he receives a clouting. The man wouldn't pay now, that was for sure. Farrescue wouldn't be angry with him for returning empty-handed. Roza doubted the ganglord would pay him just for talking to a debtor, however. He needed the money; Margarida had eaten most of his own food the night before. Of course, he hadn't let his little sister know he was almost starving, lest he guilt her into hunger. You best thank her for the rest of your life. Roza could still feel the dirk's edge at his throat, even after seven years, as the thief's words rang in his skull. I know what becomes of stray little girls in Roum. Only for her, I won't kill you.
Mayse was not as bad as Lesser Vior, but still an unkind city, nevertheless. Even the priests of Carlaneus, though pudgy and moneyed, would not leave their dinner scraps out for the dogs. Out of all the city folk, the butchers paid the best, though the earnings were still meager. Taking unwanted guts and maggot-ridden meat to dump in the river Goll and bringing back stray pigs were some of the tasks that earned him and his friends a few abes. Those little copper coins, when added together, often bought them a supper of stale bread. Mayse held their fairs in the summer, so coin seemed to vanish quicker in the times of snow.
After picking at his yellowed teeth, his small black eyes looked him up and down. "Well?" Roddy asked curtly, peering at him as if he was an idiot. "Get going, you little arsehole," he said, waving a languid hand covered with chicken grease. "So bloody dim," he uttered to himself as he slammed the rickety door of his house.
Roza clenched his fist. He spat on the debtor's door and made his way back to Farrescue's house.
Outside the alley near the leatherworker's shop, he saw the twins: Pedrero and Parttio. They were thin, strong, and saturnine; their hair and eyes were a dark brown. Both were in their eighteenth year; Roza himself was seventeen. Though they were older than him, sometimes they acted younger than Margarida. They were playing knock knuckle, a game where the players struck each other's knuckles until one of them yielded. When Parttio saw Roza coming, he hooted at him.
"Roz!" he shouted, seeming to forget the game, "You won't believe—" Pedrero punched Parttio's fist so hard that Roza heard the impact from where he stood. Parttio howled in pain, cradling his fist and walking in circles as he sucked air through his teeth.
"I break anything?" Pedrero inquired sardonically. His voice lacked sympathy as if he had asked Parttio this hundreds of times and never cared for the answer.
"No," answered Parttio, flexing his fingers, "still bloody hurt. I don't know." He thrust his reddened hand at Roza's face. "Is it broken, Roz? You would know."
Though he was no master healer, he could tell his hand was unshattered. "Is it hard to move?" Roza asked regardlessly as he carefully watched Parttio's fingers flex.
"Uh, no?" Parttio said with uncertainty. "No, I don't think so."
"Then your hand's fine."
Parttio sighed in relief. "You hear that?" He said to Pedrero, who was picking the dirt out of his nails. "You broke nothing."
Uninterested, Pedrero pretended not to hear his brother. "Roz," he said, jerking his head toward the alley, "Come. I got something for you to see."
"I wanted to tell him about it," grumbled Parttio, tugging his horse blanket around his shoulders as he followed his companions into the alley. It was about an hour or two in the afternoon, and the clouds above were heavy yet wept no snow.
When he was sure they were alone, Pedrero reached into the pouch at his belt. Two golden rings sat in his palm. One had a fat ruby set in it, the other, a diamond. "There's more, Roz," he said, so giddy he shook. He gently placed the ruby ring in Roza's palm and fished out a necklace. The links looked to be made out of silver, this silver having a light-bluish tint.
"Oh, God in the Stars," Parttio uttered, rubbing his cold hands together, "how much you think we'll get for 'em?"
For a moment, Roza was mesmerized by the jewel. We need not go hungry tonight, he thought as a stupid smile crept on his lips, and for many nights to come. He also wondered if they'd have enough to buy something for Magdalynn's sickness. Parttio's question brought him out of it.
Roza ran his fingers through his red-and-raven hair. "Who'd you steal these from?" Roza asked without derision. Roza and his friends were no strangers to thievery; they had no choice at times. The poor or even those in the threat of being poor were never their quarries, however.
Pedrero was about to answer, but Parttio squawked to interrupted him. "I'll tell 'em," he proclaimed excitedly, "I'll tell 'em." Pedrero shrugged and relented.
The twins had been told, by Farrescue, to hassle Emery: a man who had scarcely left his house; more importantly, not paid his debt. He hadn't been the same man since his wife's death. The woman had died giving birth, and her child, within the hour, followed after, it was said. A funny thing, it was. The man was a renowned adventurer, rumored to have set foot in the ruins of Lost City and returned not as a wraith, like so many before him. When no one had answered the door, they found a window to climb in through. They had found Emery dead in his bed. Though he had been a man in his early thirties, his torment took the task of time; he looked double his own age. Parttio had found the debtor's strongbox and smashed its lock until it gave. Only a third of what he owed had been in the box. There had been another chest in his bedchamber, this one almost as large as Emery's death bed. Parttio had forced that one open as well, and within was a woman's corpse, long dead and dry. Around its neck, the silver had been, the rings, around crooked fingers.
"Farrescue doesn't know he's dead," said Pedrero, "I say we take Emery's coin and treasures and run."
Parttio nodded in agreement. "I hate this damn city, Roz," he added, "and Farrescue's paying us less and less." He scratched his chin and looked toward the street. "'Should wait here for Osbert and Upton. 'Always take this street back to Farrescue's, don't we?"
"If we do that, leave the city," started Roza, "we can never come back."
Pedrero smiled wickedly. "Lesser Vior, Stromfeld, Gams … not the first time we've abandoned a city."
"We didn't abandon Gams," Roza corrected. "We were chased out." Roza chuckled at the memory. "Couldn't keep yourself away from Mur Szavel's paramour, could you?"
Pedrero gave him a surprised look. "She led me into her chambers herself," he reminded Roza, "I didn't know what she needed of me." He gave a heavy and happy sigh, reminiscing about the mistress of the mursant, a nobleman involved with the ruling of a city. "But it was too late. The woman was naked by the time she told me. Oh, sweet Ellivia."
"Ha!" barked Parttio, "we both know she thought you were me.
Pedrero snorted and crossed his arms. "She did not."
Parttio shook his head, "Surely, she did, brother. S'a shame it wasn't me. We'd have been more discreet, and Mur Savelli would never have found us together." He giggled. "We'd probably still be serving him."
As the twins argued over who the mursant's paramour truly loved, Roza thought about staying in the city. It did not take long for Roza to agree to their flight. He hated Mayse, and, with the dead man's jewelry and money—a dozen and a half silver dents—they would have more than enough time to plan their next adventure.
It was an hour until sunset when Osbert showed up. He was fair and stocky, his hay-colored hair cropped and dusty. Osbert was the tallest of them all; Roza was just tall enough to be a little under his armpits. Two-and-twenty, he was, making him the oldest of the gang. They told him about leaving; he was quite hesitant. "Farrescue hasn't been awful," he said, rubbing his thick barrel of a neck, "my man paid his debt in full." He gently shook the bag of coins at his belt. "Mayhaps Farrescue will be pleased. Besides, I hear this winter will be a long and dark one." He laughed nervously, trying to see if his companions were joking or not.
Oh, Osbert, Roza thought to himself as he shook his head, always trying to be hopeful and honest. They hadn't shown Osbert the treasures yet, however. When they did, his eyes widened, and he had to cover his mouth to keep in a squeal of excitement.
Roza beamed at him. "Still want to stay, Os?"
"Gods, no!" Osbert nearly shouted, joy in his voice.
They all guffawed.
"But what about poor old Farrescue?" Pedrero asked with mock worry.
"To the hells with Farrescue," Osbert said as he took the pouch and started counting the silvers that were now his. "I ever tell you his bleedin' dog bit me? Dogs don't usually bite me, you know?" He sniffed and shrugged. "Man would never trust us, having his bleedin' hounds bite us and all."
"It means we were being paid better than the curs at least, Os," quipped Roza.
"He hasn't been awful, has he?" Parttio mocked.
"Not awful," Osbert clarified, "rotten."
Upton caught them as they stumbled out into the street from the alley. "What's so funny?" He said as he neared, their joy making a smile creep onto his own lips. Upton was short, slender, and graceful. He had skin the color of walnut. His eyes were yellow like topazes and smooth in shape, like those of the Cazayan. Beardless and pretty, Roza mistook him for a girl when they first met on Captain Zibastapold's ship. Since they murdered the captain, they were as close as blood. He could still see the darkness in those bright eyes of his. The hells in his eyes, Roza remembered, a child born under the Blood Star of the Morning. Upton had told him how the Carlaneus priestess of his village had cursed him. The harridan refused to anoint him as an infant—an act seen as blasphemy—would taint the village with ill-fortune. In his village, the priestess's word was as undeniable as the word of the God in the Stars himself. Suffer he did as a child growing up there. Upton was the name of his village; his parents had not deigned to name him, lest he tarnish a namesake. He had no other name; Upton was Upton for all Roza knew. He looked the youngest of them all, yet he claimed he was in his eighteenth year.
After Upton told them his debtor had ridden away in the night and had no collected coin for Farrescue, they showed him the rings and necklace.
"They're beautiful," was all Upton said, lacking the excitement his companions had yet still smiling thinly. The bluish silver necklace seemed to stun him. He watched it as if it spoke to him, telling him the darkest of its secrets. His fingers twitched as if he sensed it falling from his grasp.
"We're thinking about leaving Mayse behind." Roza softened his tones, something he often did with Upton to match the boy's natural somberness. "We'll sell the jewelry elsewhere. Maybe it'll be enough to last us most of this winter. Maybe just until it gets warm … maybe until summer, even." He chuckled.
"Just two maybes sound as uncertain as a hundred," Upton said without harshness, brushing a thick strand of black hair from an eye, "but I will follow you wherever you go, Roz." He seemed to ignore the twins and Osbert. By no means did he hold any animosity toward them—on some nights of drinking, he would even laugh at the worst of Parttio's jests. He always kept Roza in higher regard than the rest.
After hearing Upton's solemn pledge, they headed toward the city gates, carefully trying to avoid any of Farrescue's gangsmen. They wanted to keep their fingers attached, no doubt, and if they were captured and taken back, they'd be lucky if that was all they would lose for their betrayal. The five—to avoid the guardsmen at the gate—went through a forgotten siege tunnel under the city walls. Covered in cold mud, they left the city behind. Mayse was not the best city Roza had ever been to, but it was not the worst.
ns 172.70.43.81da2