Matabar-Chapter 77 - 76 - Ice Cream

"How dare I?!" Retorted the man, startled. "It's you, Tess, who should reconsider your… Maybe I should write to your par-"

Tess snatched up her ice cream dish and hurled it straight at the young man's face. He deftly batted it aside with his cane. The glass struck the tiled floor and shattered, the ice cream spreading out in sticky puddles. In one of those puddles, Ardi glimpsed the faint outline of a swallow soaring among the clouds.

Lifting his gaze, Ardi saw that a strange light had begun to glow in the brilliant eyes of the girl and the young man working behind the counter. He'd seen that light once before, in the eyes of Lady Senhi'Sha, when Duchess Anorsky had had the audacity to interrupt her.

Ardan jumped to his feet and grabbed the young man's shoulder.

"How dare you touch me, beast! I'll-"

"Leave," Ardan cut him off. "Leave this place at once."

Liran looked about ready to explode with outrage. That was when Ardan met his eyes — really met them, as deeply as he could. Several of the fop's coat buttons flared with blue fire, only to crumble almost at once, turning to ash. Ardan brushed them away with a fleeting effort of will, fed by the chill streaming from the Fae's icy storage chests.

"Go, please, for your own good," he said firmly, placing the words directly into the man's mind. "Unless you want your mother to weep over your grave."

Moving like a tin soldier, Liran pivoted on his heel and marched out. Ardan, suddenly feeling drained, sagged heavily into his seat.

But before Liran left the café, the girl at the counter called out:

"For one year and one day, you shall remain silent, human, for daring to behave in such a manner toward an apprentice of the Princess Atta'nha," she said, her voice echoing. A long, luminous ribbon unfurled out of Liran's mouth. It coiled into a ring on her palm, and she sealed it inside a jar where she kept the kso coins.

Liran, still moving like a toy soldier, headed out. With him went the rest of the patrons, wide-eyed and pale. The line of waiting customers dispersed as well, and soon, the street outside fell empty. The windows overlooking the café were covered by heavy drapes, cars turned away and drove off, and even the trams halted just beyond an invisible boundary.

"Ardi, what-?" Tess began.

She didn't finish that thought. Her mouth snapped shut, and she slumped back into her chair, stiff as a statue.

Ardan seized his staff and aimed it toward the counter. But the Sidhe girl was no longer there. He wheeled around, only to see that same girl and young man now seated at his own table, calmly eating ice cream. Forest lakes and the first rays of sunrise shone in their eyes. Their hair streamed like rain, and their skin gleamed like moonstones.

"Undo whatever you did to her!" Ardan growled, feeling something dark bubbling up inside him.

"Sit, Wolf's pupil," the young man said. "We came to talk."

"Un-"

Slowly, the Sidhe raised his hand, and Ardan found himself restrained by magical bonds stronger than those his great-grandfather had once used to tie him up. Just as slowly, the hand lowered onto the table, and Ardi realized he was sitting again. He couldn't move or even speak.

Stranger still, when the Sidhe lifted his hand, shining, mercury-like blood dripped from it. Around Ardan's wrist, Atta'nha bracelet was as dark as a moonless night.

"There isn't much power left in it, Wolf's pupil," the girl said, her voice like leaves stirring in a springtime breeze. "The gift our distant cousin gave you will not protect you for much longer."

"It shields you from those who've Lost Their Way — those you call demons," continued the young man, his voice like the rolling of thunder after a long winter.

"And from the Wayward — those you call Homeless Fae."

"A prisoner has escaped from the Summer Court's dungeon — one who was never meant to escape."

"He serves someone he was never meant to serve."

"Both Summer and Winter beseech your aid, in memory of Atta'nha's kindness."

"Find him, young Speaker."

"Return him to Summer, or end his path, young Speaker."

As Ardan felt the bindings ease, he managed to ask:

"Is he the reason the Wayward keep showing up here, in the city?"

The Sidhe said nothing. They could not lie.

"If you fail, young Speaker, many will suffer."

"If you succeed," the girl said, waving her hand over the table. A scroll appeared upon the cloth, marked with symbols of the Fae alphabet on a wooden spindle, and yet slightly different, as though carved by claws. "Sister Senhi'Sha said that, like young Aror before you, you love to read. We will bring you something that may interest you, young Speaker."

"You have until the first day of Summer. By then, the fugitive will be too strong for you or for human scholars to handle."

"Until the first day of Summer," echoed the girl.

"How can I know that you-"

"Farewell, young Speaker. But keep our secret. That is the law."

"Farewell, young Speaker. Keep our secret. That is the law."

***

"I'm so sorry you had to see all that, Ardi," Tess said, shaking her head.

Ardan blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were sitting in the café, quietly eating their ice cream. Around them, people bustled about, casting sidelong glances at the pair. Outside, the wealthy young man was climbing into his car and driving off, and the busy street paid him no mind. Parents and children remained riveted by the display window, where mechanical ice cream servers — powered by rows of turning gears — churned frozen treats and playfully threw wadded up cotton "snowballs."

Inside the café's long, frosty counter lay an assortment of ice cream flavors — forest fruits, berry, confections — that were ordinary enough. And behind the counter stood perfectly normal servers.

"Tess, I…" Ardan tried to ask her about the Sidhe, about the enchantment they'd just wrought, but his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. In fact, it literally was — he couldn't pry it free.

"You're probably upset about what he said regarding my parents…" Tess sighed. "I didn't want to tell you. But really, who cares…"

"By the Sleeping Spirits, I care that the Sidhe just put a spell on you!" Ardan wanted to shout, but his tongue refused to budge.

"I'm sorry," Tess went on, head bowed. "Anyway, it's nobody's business…"

Ardan tore out a page from his grimoire, hoping to write down a note. Despite his efforts, his hand simply scratched wavy lines and strange doodles into the paper, not proper letters.

"My father is the Governor-General of Shamtur."

Ardan's hand went limp. He looked at Tess, exhaling slowly.

"I had a hunch."

She started a bit, gazing at him with surprise.

"I didn't know your father was the Governor-General," Ardan clarified. "But I did guess that you belonged to a military aristocratic family."

"How?" Was all she could ask.

He figured there was no point hiding it now.

"You and Boris knew each other even before you 'met' through me — though you tried to keep it quiet," Ardan began ticking items off on his fingers. "That was the main clue. Then there were the little things: how you lift your pinky when you drink, how you speak, how you look in any outfit."

"How I look in any outfit?"

Ardan nodded. "You carry yourself like a Grand Princess."

"I'm not a Grand Princess," Tess whispered. "I'm a baroness, that's all."

"There were other clues," Ardan went on. "Expensive cars would come for you, but whoever was inside rarely attended your performances — maybe once or twice. That suggests they weren't there for the music. You're not swayed by other people's ranks or titles. And then there's what you said about your family — someone with a cushy storehouse job in the military wouldn't have the means or the space to keep a piano at home, or the pull to get you into a medical university, or the authority to be catching Fatian saboteurs. A mere quartermaster chasing down saboteurs? Doesn't make sense. Also, there's the fact that you were never worried about being among the Orcish Jackets. You act so sure of yourself, it's as if they couldn't lay a finger on you. And indeed, Arkar and the Dandy treat you accordingly."

"The Dandy?" Tess asked.

Ardan realized that Milar had been right — the Dandy had indeed been bluffing. Nothing would have happened to Tess anyway, not because some uncrowned king of the city's underworld would've interceded, but because Tess' family was beyond their reach.

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"Also," Ardan added, "when you speak to me as we walk around, you never tilt your face upwards the way people do if they aren't used to conversing with someone a lot taller than them. It's a trivial thing, but in the context of the bigger picture…" He recalled what the Grand Princess Anastasia had told him once in the Anorsky manor's basement. "Isn't the Governor-General of Shamtur around my height?"

"My father's a bit shorter… Ardi, I'm sorry, I-"

"So that's why you hesitated?" He interrupted her, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Because you're the Governor-General's daughter and I'm just an Imperial Mage in ragged clothing? A half-blood, no less. A descendant of Aror Egobar, and-"

"You idiot," she said, suddenly smiling warmly at him. "You, Ard Egobar, are the biggest idiot in the world. A sweet, kind, astoundingly clever idiot."

She reached out and took him by the wrist.

"Let's go home, my dear, brilliant idiot."

"I don't underst-"

"You wouldn't," she teased, standing and tugging him along. "Come on. We'll stop by Arkar's for some cuts of venison, and I'll cook us dinner."

"But-"

Ardan wanted to say more, but as he looked into her eyes — not using the methods Skusty had taught him, but simply looking — he saw only warmth there, a warmth Anna had never shown him. A warmth that made all this talk about Shamtur, Aror, and everything else fade away and turn insignificant.

"Are we heading to your place… or mine?" He asked.

On the threshold of the café, she paused and gave him a mischievous glance that was somehow catlike.

"To our place, my clever idiot, Ardi-the-wizard."

Our place…

The words reverberated in his head.

And oddly enough, they filled him with more fear than everything that had just happened with the Sidhe.

They walked down the street while Tess told him the part of her story that she'd left out before. Her father really had started out working at a supply base, holding some minor post. Though he came from a noble military lineage, that branch of her father's family had gone bankrupt ages ago. All that they'd inherited was a lord's title, no property or funds. Tess had never met her paternal grandparents — they'd died in a fever outbreak in the north when her father had still been quite young.

That supply depot wasn't even in Shamtur proper, but in one of its forts. During the Fatian Massacre, two Fatian divisions broke through the defenses and laid siege to the fort. Tess' father showed tremendous valor, was promoted, and then sent to the front with other volunteers who'd been trained in how to be an effective cavalry. He distinguished himself once again and met a nurse there — Tess' mother. By the end of the Fatian Massacre, he'd made it to colonel. Thanks to his remarkable organizational skills, he became an aide to the then-Governor-General of Shamtur, and later — when that man honorably retired — he assumed the post himself.

Through it all, he never acquired that lofty brand of aristocratic snobbery that so often provoked gossip. They lived in a simple, if spacious, house, and survived on his salary alone (no shady business), which, admittedly, was considerable. Her parents raised Tess, her brothers, and her sisters in a fairly ordinary fashion, making sure they knew how to take care of themselves and understood the realities of life.

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In the end, it all left Tess feeling uncomfortable with her status, so she avoided telling anyone about it. And it hardly mattered anyway, as her family didn't live anything like the aristocracy.

When Tess finally decided she wanted to sing and move to the capital, her father used his connections to get her into medical school. When she dropped out, wanting to focus on her music, he gave her two choices: either come home to Shamtur, or learn to survive in the capital without any parental help.

She chose the latter.

Her parents loved all their children, Tess included, but they were wary of spoiling them. So, they set boundaries — strict but fair. It explained a lot of the seemingly contradictory things about Tess. Ardan felt like, before, they'd been standing on opposite sides of an unseen border of unspoken truths. Now… Tess had stepped across that boundary toward him, while Ardi himself had remained silent.

And Tess understood. She didn't press for answers. She simply stayed by his side, holding his hand. Ardan couldn't help noticing how, in some ways, it all resembled his situation with Anna. He really seemed to have a foolish habit of falling for — or becoming interested in, at least — a girl whose family belonged to a far higher social rung.

"Something on your mind?" Tess asked.

"It's just… I'm an ordinary student, and-"

"And I'm just a jazz singer in an empty bar," she interrupted, opening the door to the deserted main room of "Bruce's." "So, Mr. Ordinary Student, for a side dish, would you prefer buckwheat, potatoes, or pasta?"

Ardan stumbled as though he'd tripped over something invisible and stammered, "Tess, I-"

"If you keep up this nonsense, Ardi," she said, flashing him a predatory grin, "I'll give you a ridiculous haircut, and you won't even know it."

"I was trying to say-"

"You're on thin ice," she warned.

"I can't eat vegetables, nor farmed meat, and I can only have flour in small amounts. Otherwise… there are problems," Ardan finally blurted, flushing.

"Oh…" Tess faltered. Then her voice turned soft, drawn-out. "I see. All right… Buckwheat, is that okay?"

"Yes."

"Then go get the venison." She nodded at the door leading to the kitchen. "I'll start sorting the grain. When you're back, you can help."

He might have been imagining it, but Ardan thought he'd heard a note of uncompromising steel in her voice just then. He'd heard it a couple of times before: when she'd stitched up Lisa — may the Eternal Angels welcome her gently — and again when she'd patched up his own wounds. Back then, he never could figure out how such a gentle beauty possessed such mettle. Now it all made sense.

She stood on tiptoe, tugged him down as usual, planted a little kiss on his cheek, and darted toward the stairs, leaving Ardan standing there as if rooted to the spot.

Outside, the early spring evening was reaching out with its cold, damp embrace, capping off a day so jumbled that Ardan felt as though it had lasted far more than a single journey of the clock. He thought back on his visit to the Main Headquarters of the City Guard Corps, him nearly getting arrested, receiving his new ID, heading to the Black House, meeting Kerimov's mother, helping Boris get discharged, and, of course, that uncanny encounter with the Sidhe Fae.

The Sidhe Fae.

Those two words alone sounded like some wild fever dream. Anyone who heard them would never believe him. And admittedly, it seemed like no one would ever hear them — Ardan had realized by now that he had no way of telling anyone about the situation at all.

There was a fugitive from the Summer Court's prison (Spirits help them all!) on the loose, someone the Sidhe themselves apparently couldn't catch. Worse, they wouldn't even confirm if he was responsible for the trouble in the city. And Ardi couldn't ask for advice from anyone. Where he could find this fugitive, how to even begin looking for him, who he even was… Ardan had no answers to any of these questions.

It was like one of his grandfather's stories: "Go to a place you don't know, bring back something you've never heard of, and you'll be rewarded with some cryptic scroll." And knowing the Sidhe, the scroll might turn out to be a bawdy little tale. They would consider the bargain fulfilled and mock the mortal for their amusement. All very typical for them.

"Sleeping Spirits," Ardan muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I need a vacation… in the library."

Scratching the back of his head with the tip of his staff and removing his cowboy hat, Ardan skirted around the dust-covered bar counter and opened the door to the kitchen.

Bam!

He managed to throw up a shield just before the bullet reached him. The lead slug ricocheted aside, shot clean through a cooking pot, and lodged itself in the plaster of the far wall.

Ardan nearly unleashed an Ice Arrow in return, but caught himself just in time, and so did the shooter.

Arkar, with his revolver's hammer still cocked, pointed the barrel skyward in a show of good faith. He had fired with his left hand, while his right was clutching a bleeding wound in his side. Nearby, several empty whiskey bottles were scattered around, along with a tin box of thread and medical supplies. It looked like Arkar had tried, unsuccessfully, to stitch up his own gut.

"What… are you doing here?" He asked, breathing heavily.

"Getting a cut of venison," Ardi answered, pointing to the refrigerated cabinet. "And you?"

"Bleeding out," the half-orc said, pulling his hand away to reveal the blood leaking from his wound.

They locked eyes for a moment. Then Ardan cursed under his breath and dropped down beside the half-orc, fumbling his grimoire open.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long ago were you shot?" Ardi growled.

"About three hours ago." Ardan flipped a few pages.

"Caliber?"

"Uh…"

"What caliber was the bullet?!" Ardi barked.

"Twelve millimeters, I think…"

Ardan's eyes went wide in astonishment. That sort of caliber was usually reserved for the heavy five-shot revolvers used by cowboys tending to herds near forests, and they used them for scaring off bears and wolves if needed.

"How are you even alive?"

"Shielded myself… with some bastard… But it went right through him…" The half-orc wheezed.

Ardi hurriedly flipped through more pages until he found a suitable seal.

"This is going to hurt," he warned.

"Yeah."

"It's going to hurt a lot."

"Ard, for cryin' out loud, just — AAAAAAH!"

Arkar howled in pain as Ardi dipped his finger in whiskey and then shoved it into the wound to gauge how deep it was. He needed some idea, at least.

Roughly sketching adjustments in the spell diagram to account for the bullet hole's diameter and depth, Ardi raised his staff and gave the floor a hard tap. A green seal flared beneath his feet, and a ghostly hand, dripping with green rain, touched Arkar's abdomen.

The bleeding halted, but the edges of the wound refused to close, and the bullet did not emerge.

"Some healer you are, Matabar," the half-orc managed to croak with a derisive snort.

"I just saved your liver, orc," Ardan retorted. "But the wound's too old. I don't have the strength to fully heal you. We'll need Tess for that."

"Maybe you could, I dunno… call her down here?" Arkar muttered hopefully.

"No," Ardi said firmly. He stood, opened the freezer, and grabbed a paper-wrapped piece of venison. Then he returned to the injured half-orc.

"Grave robbing, are you?" The wounded gangster tried to joke.

"You're not dead yet."

"I soon will be."

"Not likely." Ardi huffed as he hauled Arkar upright, bracing him under his right arm. The frosty cut of meat dangled from his left hand, knocking against his staff like a block of ice.

They climbed the stairs, leaving a trail of half-orc blood on the floor and (by the Sleeping Spirits, this was getting silly!) all over Ardi's own clothes, until they reached the top floor. Ardan shoved open the unlocked door with his shoulder.

"Oh…" Arkar muttered, casting a bemused glance at the scene. "While I was runnin' all over the city, looks like you… didn't waste any time, did ya?"

Tess, as if sensing something was wrong, emerged into the hallway. She'd already changed into a casual dress, tied her hair back into a tight bun, and donned an apron. She eyed the bleeding half-orc with obvious displeasure.

"That," she said to Ardi, "is a much bigger piece of 'venison' than I expected."

"Tess, I-" Ardan began, trying to explain.

"Caliber?" She echoed his earlier question.

"Twelve millimeters."

"Eternal Angels," she whispered. "How's he even breathing?"

"Hello to you too, Tess," Arkar rasped. "It's a long sto-"

"A story I have zero interest in," she interrupted, green eyes flashing, then looked at Ardi. "Next time, call me downstairs instead of dragging meat so fresh it's bloody into our home."

"Next time?" He murmured.

"Our home?" Arkar repeated, trading looks with Ardi.

Tess was already shoving a small dining table to one side and tossing down several towels to cover the floor.

"Bring him here."

Ardan set the venison down on a chest of drawers in the entryway and helped Arkar over to the area Tess had marked. She turned to the half-orc.

"Can you stand on your own, Arkar? I need Ardi to let go of you so he can help me with a few things."

"Sure I-" Arkar said, and the moment Ardan released him, he swayed and thudded face-first onto the floor with enough force to rattle the boards.

"Or maybe I can't," he groaned, blood pooling beneath his belly.

"Eternal Angels!" Tess exclaimed before rounding on Ardi. "You know what I need?"

"A basin of warm water, clean towels, anesthetics, and-"

"And a home without a bleeding gangster sprawled across my floor!" She snapped. "But yes — your list will do."

Ardan returned with everything she'd asked for. Together, they strained to roll Arkar onto his back. Tess deftly sliced away his clothes, exposing the gory wound, then treated it with alcohol. The half-orc twitched, but didn't regain consciousness.

Only the Sleeping Spirits knew how much blood he'd lost.

Ardi tried his best to help, mainly handing Tess whatever she asked for and staying out of her way. Using a simple pair of kitchen tongs, slender but hardly surgical, Tess extracted the bullet, which Ardan's spell had pushed out of the half-orc's liver, then set about cleaning and stitching up the wound.

The whole process took well over an hour. During that time, Ardi managed to fetch the venison from the entryway and stow it in Tess' icebox.

Or… their icebox?

That just sounded strange, so maybe it would simply stay "Tess' kitchen" for now.

Finally, now drenched up to her elbows in blood and with her apron red and damp, the girl stepped away from Arkar — who occupied half the living room floor — and silently went to the bathroom.

Ardan, looking from the half-orc to Tess and back again, scratched his head. Then, moving as lightly as a cat, he approached the bathroom door and tapped it gently.

"Tess…"

The door was flung open, revealing a petite, disheveled woman with eyes flashing like green fire.

"Let's set a few rules right away, Ardi."

"Yes, I-"

"If you get shot, you come home. If someone else gets shot, you call me downstairs. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Excellent." She pecked him on the cheek and slammed the door in his face. Water drummed through the shower pipes on the other side.

Ardan scratched his head again. Why was there not even a single book among the hundreds he'd already read that could explain how you should handle… living with a woman?

He had no idea what to do next, nor whom he could even ask about it.

Maybe it was time to write to Kelly? Awkward as that might end up being, it still felt less awkward than his present predicament.

Returning to the living room, Ardan nearly started cursing. Arkar, who was still lying amid the blood-soaked towels on the floor, was now tipping back his ever-present flask.

"Arkar…"

"Aye, Ard," the half-orc said, lifting the near-empty container. "I need your help."

Ardan, mimicking Aversky's characteristic gesture, smacked a hand to his own face.

"Sleeping Spirits, orc. This is the second time in under a month that some wounded acquaintance has shown up at my doorstep begging for help. I don't want this turning from coincidence to habit."

"Your doorstep?" Arkar gave him a suggestive wink. "This is Tess' place."

"I was speaking figuratively."

"Fingeringly..."

"Figuratively…" Ardan tried to correct him, but the half-orc went on without listening to him.

"…Matabar, you don't own this home, either. It belongs to us — the Orcish Jackets."

"Then grab your stupid, bullet-riddled orcish jacket," Ardan grumbled, kicking the tattered coat toward Arkar on the floor, "and drag yourself back downstairs. If you end up counting the steps with your head, don't call me. Don't call Tess, either."

Arkar's face grew momentarily serious. He studied Ardi with more care than before.

"You've changed, Ard."

Ardan sighed and spread his arms out wide.

"I blame this city. People keep shooting at me, and when they're not, some demon or mutant is trying to eat me. Or I end up dragged into random gang shootouts against my will. It's frustrating, you know. All I really want to do is read books and craft Star Magic seals."

"You yap… you talk, I mean, a lot more than you used to," Arkar said gruffly. "You used to be quiet most of the time… That's what I meant. I wasn't talking about your… irritableness."

"Irritability," Ardi corrected him automatically.

"Look, I can't speak for the rest of them, Matabar," the half-orc growled. "But you still owe me."

"I've repaid my debt," Ardan reminded him.

"You really gonna turn me down?" Arkar sounded genuinely surprised. "A friend?"

"Last time a 'friend' asked me for help, it turned into a trap. I nearly ended up wandering the paths of the Sleeping Spirits. Learned that lesson well."

With a weary sigh, Arkar grabbed the nearby chair, grunting as he steadied himself into a sitting position, clutching his bandaged side all the while.

"I swear on my ancestors' paths, Ard Egobar, that I've found the one behind Baliero and what happened with the Hammers. And I swear again on my ancestors' paths: if you help me with this, I'll never forget the debt I'll owe you."

Ardan froze. A vow mentioning one's ancestral paths would not be made lightly by a Firstborn like Arkar.

Drawing another chair over, Ardi sat down across from him.

"Tell me."

Arkar cast a glance toward the hallway, listening to the sound of running water.

"It's a bit of a yarn… a long tale, I mean."

"Then you better start right now," Ardi said.

The half-orc snorted out a laugh.

"I kind of like you when you're wound up like this, Ard. Makes you seem more alive, and less like some machine that won't speak its mind. Hard to squeeze a word out of you sometimes."

Milar had once said something along those lines, too. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

"Darg has lost his mind," Arkar began. "He sees traitors and conspiracies everywhere. He made Indgar my second-in-command and ordered 'Bruce's' closed until we figure everything out. But Indgar's not worth squat."

Arkar took another swig from his flask, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So, we've been combing the city, me and Indgar, searching for any loose threads we could yank on — gunrunners, messengers who might pass things on to the enforcers, small-time punks and scum in the know… Eventually, we sniffed out… we learned, I mean, that those damned vampires had nothing to do with the Narikhman," — Ardan didn't bother saying he already knew that — "so, if it wasn't the Narikhman, that only leaves the Conclave."

"The Conclave?" Ardan echoed.

"They're something like our diaspora's advisers," Arkar explained. "Sort of a council of elders for the Firstborn, not involved in crime, but still overseeing how we live in the city. We do slide them a small cut each month, but, you know, we do it for the common good."

"Understood," Ardi said.

"I doubt you actually do, Matabar, but anyway," Arkar went on, struggling into what remained of his shirt and picking up his bullet-riddled jacket. "We went to the Firstborn district to talk to a Conclave rep, but-"

"He didn't want to talk to you?"

"You could say that," Arkar nodded. "It's hard for dead men to hold a conversation, Ard… We found his cold… his body, I mean, in an apartment. The killers had tried to mimic the Narikhman's style, but they did a sloppy job."

Ardan shook his head. Why did every lead always end in…

"Hang on," Ardi suddenly blurted, catching himself. "You said they tried to imitate the Narikhman's style?"

"Yeah. Some gory nonsense with the eyes," Arkar confirmed. "It was a real horror show, but the Narikhman's crew never works that crudely."

Ardan recalled old man Oglanov's words. He, too, had mentioned something about a young guard refusing to cover up the boys' disappearances, and how his eyes had also been mutilated.

"What then?"

Arkar took another swig, chugging from the flask as though trying to drown out his memories.

"After that, we were attacked by a damned Star-shifter, Ard. Knocked me and Indgar aside like we were rag dolls. Next thing I remember, I woke up in a cage. Everything was hazy. People came to interrogate me, one after another, but it's all a blur. Don't even know how many days I spent there."

"So why do you think-?"

"Don't interrupt," Arkar growled. "At some point — maybe thanks to the blessing of the Sleeping Spirits — I sniffed out… I realized, I mean, that the problem was in the water they gave me. I stopped drinking it, and my mind slowly cleared, but I didn't let on it had. Kept faking it. So, the next time they came to interrogate me, I saw who it was."

Ardan already had a suspicion about who Arkar would name.

"It was Indgar, I swear it on my ancestors' paths, Ard," Arkar rapped a fist on the table. "That bastard's working for them. Don't ask who 'they' are — I got no clue. But he's in league with that Star-shifter. They kept me in an abandoned dock near the old yacht club that burned down years ago — nobody ever rebuilt it. The rich folks collected the insurance and walked away, and now only scum lives there. I waited for them to drop their guards, then I made a run for it. When the Star-shifter stepped into my cage, I" — he made a grabbing motion — "got my hand around his throat. That keeps a Star-shifter from transforming, if you pinch their artery right. Indgar… that bastard… He opened fire. The bullet went clean through the shifter and hit me. Somehow, I managed to dive into the water and slip away. So… sorry about shooting at you."

Ardan rose and moved to the window. The street below looked quiet — there was no sign of watchers.

"He won't come here."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my word against his," Arkar said in a low, humorless tone. "Darg would cold… finish… kill, I mean, both of us rather than decide which one of us to trust. I figure Indgar's just waiting for an opening. Damn it all! I knew I shoulda popped that pup myself. Never liked him."

Without letting go of his staff, Ardan came back to the table.

"Suppose you're right… How do we even find him? He's not just going to sit at home waiting for you, Arkar."

A sinister grin bared the half-orc's upper tusks.

"We don't need to look for him," he said. "He'll come for us. He swore by our ancestors to be loyal to the Orcish Jackets, and now he's betrayed us. The Conclave has to learn of this, which means he'll do anything to keep me from reaching the elders. So, that's where I need your help, Ard. Help me get to the Conclave."

Ardan cast a long look at his gigantic, wounded acquaintance — this gangster who was one of the criminal bosses of the Metropolis.

"On one condition."

"Oh… all grown up now, are you, Matabar? Name it."

"I'm taking Indgar in myself."

"What?" Arkar narrowed his eyes at him. "So… you really-"

Ardan pulled out his black leather holder and held it up for the half-orc to see.

"Corporal Egobar…" Arkar read. "So, you and me, we're the same rank?"

"But on opposite sides of the front."

"Opposite sides of the front…" He echoed, snorting. "Kid, you've never so much as sniffed real front-line powder, and I pray to the Sleeping Spirits that you never have to… All right, deal. Indgar's yours, but I still need certain things from him."

"I'm not giving you his head. I need it for questioning."

"I'll settle for his legs."

At first, Ardan thought it was a grim joke, but Arkar's face was deathly serious.

"Deal?" The gangster said, extending his hand.

"Deal," said Corporal Egobar, Third-Rank Investigator of the Second Chancery, clasping his hand.

"Then let's move."

"Right now?"

"No, damn it all, Ard. Let's make tea first, and then we'll fix the car tires, I mean… oh fuck it. Of course I mean right now!"

Ardan glanced toward the bathroom door. The sound of running water had ceased some time ago. Tess must have heard everything.

Arkar followed Ardi's gaze and mumbled something inaudible under his breath, then headed out. Ardan hurried after him. At the doorway, he paused and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Tess, I-"

"Promise me you'll come back," she said quietly.

"I promise."

"Then until we meet again, Ardi-the-wizard."

"Until we meet again…" He hesitated, cheeks flushing, then added, "Snowflake."

Closing the door behind him, he flipped the page over to another seal in his grimoire and tapped his staff on the floor. A fine mesh of metal filaments wove itself over the doorframe and slid into the wood.

"So pretty," Arkar said, reaching out to touch the ghostly, steel threads that had vanished into the apartment's threshold. But Ardan grabbed his wrist.

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"It's a passive magic shield," Ardi explained. "It'll slice your arm off at the shoulder. It'll last until morning, and is only safe for me and Tess to go through."

"That's grim… You still remember my shacking… my promise, I mean, if you blow the place up, right?"

Ardan ignored the remark.

They made their way to the ground floor, stepped out into the courtyard, and climbed into one of the Jackets' cars. Arkar, still wincing from the pain, turned the ignition key.

"Arkar," Ardi said softly.

"What, Ard?"

"What does it mean… to be with a woman? You know, together?"

The half-orc was seized by a fit of ragged coughing.