One thing Sullen would say for Nemi was the witch never said I told ya so. Maybe it was because they all knew it went without saying, or maybe it was because she was just as down in the mouth as Sullen and Diggelby about the situation. They had really thought they could win over the People’s Pack, convince ’em to lend their aid for the war against Jex Toth. And Count Raven only knew, they well might have, if they’d been able to get an audience with the council that now ruled Diadem. The rub was they hadn’t got to talk to the right people, and the people they had talked to hadn’t even known who the right people were.
The castle built into the natural walls of the city was open to the public, but they hadn’t gotten very far inside before encountering long queues of folk all trying to find the right person to talk to, too. Diggelby’s suggestion that they be allowed to cut in line as their business concerned the very fate of the world did not rank with those who had apparently been waiting for days. The rise of Jex Toth seemed less of an immediate concern in these parts than folks starving or plague breaking out or thugs wearing the orange livery of the new militia causing problems. Brother Rýt volunteered to wait in line on behalf of his companions. If nothing else, the queue must lead to someone who could tell him where a missionary monk home from the heathen front should go to discharge his message, his confession, and his penance.
It was agreed Rýt should be given a letter summarizing the recent global catastrophe and imminent threat, so that once he was reunited with his superiors in the church they might in turn pass it along to the People’s Pack. Not that anyone had any real expectation of this yielding much benefit, even before it became apparent that the only thing they had to write on was the pasha’s rolling papers. Out of options, they left the monk with verbal instructions of which highlights to hit, should he find someone receptive to hearing the biggest news since the Age of Wonders. Diggelby had repeated that phrase several times, loudly, trying to attract the attention they deserved from the guards supervising the cattle call, but it never went anywhere.
After that it was a somber trio who trudged back outside into Diadem’s constant black rain, though noticing how many of the towering ancient buildings were burnt-out husks gave Sullen a brief surge of hope. Maybe Zosia had indeed tried to flood the city with burning oil or devil’s fire, as the Faceless Mistress had warned, only to have someone interrupt her before it went too far, doing Sullen’s job for him. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Happy thoughts did not last long, however, in this dank and ashy woodpile of a metropolis. It had taken all day and well into the evening before they had finally given up on meeting the People’s Pack or their representatives, exchanging the claustrophobic caves of the castle for the equally confining avenues and alleys. Sullen was usually quite good at orienting himself but was accustomed to at least being able to see the night sky, and here on the tight streets of Diadem he might as well have been lost in a giant antbed, wandering through tunnels laid out according to no order known to mortal minds. Nemi had heard that Diadem insulated its Gate behind guarded cordons and so wanted to reach it before dawn, in case they had to jump a wall to access their infernal road to Othean. Yet the rain was coming down so hard that even with his devilish eyes Sullen could barely make out the lane in front of them. With hardly anyone out on the streets and those who were disinclined to be accosted by three weirdos in need of very detailed directions, they eventually took shelter under a bridge seemingly made of packed-together houses, waiting for the rain to let up before trying again. It had been hours since their dinner of handpies and kebabs, and Sullen immediately pulled out the extra treat Diggelby had bought him for the road, tearing into the flatfish-stuffed bread. It had gotten mushy from the rain and wasn’t much like the food he’d eaten back on the Frozen Savannahs anyway, but it still had more of a Flintland taste than most anything he’d had since leaving home, and he couldn’t get enough of that nutty spice. By the mysterious mug of the Faceless Mistress, if he never ate a sack of foraged weeds again it would be too soon.
“Do you think they’re already there?” Diggelby asked as he squatted in the mud beside the river of rushing black runoff. Sullen leaned against the inner wall of the bridge while Nemi used her cockatrice cage as a stool. “Back in Othean, I mean, after their side trip to Jex Toth.”
“With Hoartrap steering them they are definitely somewhere, let’s just pray it’s somewhere nice,” panted Nemi, taking the handpie Sullen offered her. Her ring-striped fingers were shaking, making him suppose her slow pace hadn’t just been for the benefit of her gut-stuck companion. He hadn’t really gotten a feel for her yet, the witch, even though they’d been traveling together for weeks now and she’d been his barber twice over. There was definitely something up with her, though, some pox or curse that kicked in once the sun went down. She treated her affliction the same way she treated everything.
“You might want to have your egg early, before we set out,” Sullen suggested as she passed the snack to Diggelby. “Seen you leaning on your stick pretty hard, and we might have to strut quick to make it before dawn.”
“Is that your learned opinion as a scholar of medicine, magic, and other marvels?” asked Nemi, a little rattily. “However did I manage to take care of myself day in and day out before we met?”
“Um … pretty well, I expect?” said Sullen, realizing he’d given offense. “Sorry, was just saying is all, in case you weren’t thinking ’bout it. Know my mind’s been wandering all day, so …”
“Oh! I … I appreciate the concern, but it’s not necessary,” said Nemi, sounding as though maybe she’d misread things a little, too. “As much time as you’ve spent under my care since we’ve met you probably learned the basics of my methods, but masters rarely take kindly to their apprentices volunteering suggestions.”
“Your apprentice, nice,” said Sullen with a smile, because it was a smart burn—he’d definitely put in more hours getting his own pains tended to of late than he had administering aches to others. But Sullen was all right with that, his smile turning to a grimace as he remembered knocking the kid from the Cobalt camp back onto the spear his ma held. The spear he now held, and that held his grandfather. It was a beautiful weapon, but while he’d been hyped to try it out as soon as he saw it, now all he could think about was how he hoped he never stuck it in another person. Far as he could tell Nemi had yet to hurt a soul, be it mortal or devil, and used her hands to slow the flow of blood instead of hastening it.
Maybe he should ask if she would take him on as her apprentice for real. What would that be like, living a life where you didn’t hurt people? Where you didn’t kill kids without even trying? Sullen tried to think of an ancestor who’d done more repairing than reaping and came up dry; even the shaman Ghostbather was a hunter first and a healer second. Murder was Sullen’s legacy, murder and mayhem, not medicine.
“Are you all right, old boy?” Diggelby asked gently, and Sullen realized the rain had slowed enough that they could hear him weeping. Ever since the kid in the tavern he’d been crying a lot, sometimes just out of nowhere.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, tried to make it stick. “Yeah.”
“I am sorry I polished off that pie. I thought you were finished. I’ll buy you a whole bakery, next chance we get.”
“Heh.” Sullen shook his burdened brow, appreciating Diggelby’s attempt to cheer him up even if he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Nah, I’m all right. Just ready to be back with our friends.”
“Then off we go,” said Diggelby, hopping lightly to his buckle-shoed feet and then looking a little sheepish about it as Sullen and Nemi readied themselves to go back into the rain with far less celerity.
“I’m waiting to take my cure until we see if we can reach the Gate before first light, because if not I’ll just sleep all day anyway,” said Nemi, making sure the oilskin cover was tight over Zeetatrice’s cage. “She doesn’t like being out of the vardo, and when she’s nervous she’s less dependable with her eggs. So I’m conserving the ones I have.”
“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation,” said Sullen. “You tend you and I’ll tend … actually, I’ll just let you tend me, too. Seems safest.”
“Here, let me make sure the stitches haven’t ripped,” said Nemi, and was about to put the cage back down in the muck when he waved her off.
“Nah, it’s fine, everything is fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, because he didn’t feel too much worse than usual, but he also knew just pulling his wet tunic up off his belly was going to be nauseatingly bad and he could wait quite a while on that. Let him get safely back to Keun-ju and Ji-hyeon and then he could worry about his wound, and the fate of the Star, and all such other trivial matters.
“How do you think Purna’s getting on with your mom?” Diggelby asked, staring off into the rain. “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I subjected another poor devil to the same bondage I put Prince through, but I do find myself wishing I could have found some other way of joining them. To be a gadfly on the wall …”
“You think they’re having it out?” Sullen had spent all his time imagining his mother being crazy at Keun-ju; he hadn’t even stopped to think how she and Purna would clash.
“I think they’ve got to be tight as ticks by now,” said Diggelby. “Purna lives for that barbarian buffoonery. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Let’s just hope Hoartrap treats them better than others who trusted him,” said Nemi darkly, “and that Othean hasn’t fallen in the meanwhile.”
“Hope’s for dopes,” said Diggelby, hoisting his sequin-shedding pack and heading out into the drizzle. “That said, I’ve got a great feeling about this. Anyone care to lay a modest wager that we’ll soon see our old friends?”