11

Little Bee had an aunt in Hammer Point who took her in. Red didn’t feel right about letting her leave the Circle for a neighborhood that everyone knew wasn’t near as nice. But as Filler pointed out, there weren’t any other options. When Red had suggested they take her in, Filler just stared at him like he’d gone slippy. Red had to admit that they were probably not ideal choices to care for a little girl, and it was fortunate that Little Bee had anyone at all. Or Jilly. Nobody would call her Little Bee now, Red realized. That idea troubled him perhaps more than any other part. In Paradise Circle, a name meant something, whether you chose it, or more often, it was chosen for you. And in the Circle, a name stuck.

But Red’s doubts about Little Bee didn’t linger, especially once she was gone. Because more and more, his thoughts and energy were spent trying to figure out how he could see Nettles as much as possible.

She wanted to be near Filler while he worked on her chainblade, as she’d started calling it, but didn’t want to be a pest. So she spent a lot of time in Gunpowder Hall. The inside of the hall was one big open space with tables, benches, and tents scattered here and there. It was a popular spot for gamblers to get a game of stones, for whores to bring their clients, and murderers to dump their bodies. There was no judgment at Gunpowder Hall, and no imps either. The authorities had tried to raid the place a few years back, and after five days and heavy losses, gave up. Some places just couldn’t be ruled.

“I was thinking I might want a custom weapon of my own,” Red said by way of greeting when he sat down next to her.

“Mmf?” she said, her mouth around the roasted fish on a stick she’d picked up at one of the tents outside.

He pulled out one of his throwing knives and held it up, looking at it thoughtfully. “Sometimes when I throw one of these, they accidentally strike with the handle. Now, if I’m aiming for the head, it’s still enough to stun them or even knock them out. But if I’m aiming elsewhere, say the chest, all it does is make them mad. So I was thinking, why not have a blade at either end, so I don’t have that problem anymore?”

“Because where would you hold it, you salthead?” said Nettles.

“I thought of that, too.” He gave her a smug grin. “See, I don’t need to hold it, I just need a way to fling it. If there was like a loop or something in the middle I could get my finger through, I could hook it and whip it out right from the sheath.”

“Even if the loop was stiff leather, you’d risk it being flat and closed up when you needed it,” Nettles said. “Better to make it metal. Like a ring of metal you can easily get your finger through.”

Red’s eyes widened. “That’s a sunny idea, Nettie! What if the ring was actually what joined the two blades? Three pieces, easily joined. I bet Filler could whip me up some in no time.”

“After he’s done with my chainblade,” said Nettles.

Once he’d met up with her, he would try to extend their time together beyond the initial conversation. He would show her some strange little place he’d found in the neighborhood, like the underground pond in Apple Grove Manor. Or he’d get her over to the Drowned Rat for a pint and a game of stones. Or he would take her down to the docks and get Missing Finn to lend them some fishing poles. Sometimes she went along with his plan. Sometimes she said, “Nah, let’s go back to your place and toss instead.” And sometimes she just said she wasn’t interested. Red tried not to show the sting he felt when that happened. He knew she would think him soft for it, call him artsy or a ponce. About the only time he could count on her to come along with him, no matter what, was when it was a job.

“What’s this one, then?” asked Nettles as she sat down with Red at a table in the corner of the Drowned Rat. She coiled her shiny new chainblade around her hand. Filler had done a fine job. The chain was thin and light, but linked so tightly that it wasn’t brittle. The blade was double-sided and a little longer than her forefinger.

“It’s like this.” There were few things Red enjoyed more than sharing a new plan. “You know the wrink who owns that butcher shop down on Manay Street? Calls himself Neepman?”

“I know the shop,” said Nettles. “Never met the old man.”

“Because you’re not a people person, Nettie. You have to talk to folks. Smile and make nice.”

She made a sour face. “Too much work.”

“Work brings work, though,” said Red. “I got to talking with Neepman, and find out he also owns the bakery over on Tide Lane. He was complaining what a chore it was to have his shops so far apart, transporting things between them. I couldn’t help but wonder what things he might be transporting. An afternoon of friendly talk over at the bakery, and a few nights of careful observation on the route between the two shops led me to the discovery that there is no safe at the bakery. Not enough room, what with the ovens. So old Neepman has the day’s earnings transported to the butcher’s after closing by one of his shopgirls.”

“You can handle rolling a shopgirl,” said Nettles. “So what do you need me for?”

“Because a day’s earnings at a bakery is barely worth my time. No, we’re going to use this to get to the bigger prize, which is the safe in the butcher’s.”

“How do we do that?”

“Like I said, they let this shopgirl in after closing. Unlock the doors and lead her straight to wherever the safe is hidden. And this girl just happens to be about your height and have similar hair.”

“You want to roll the shopgirl, then have me pose as her to find the safe and get in it.”

“I’ll trail you to the shop. Then when it’s time for you to make the grab, I’ll step in and help with whatever muscle they’ve got there. In and out. Simple as sideways.”

“It’s never as simple as you say,” said Nettles.

He grinned at her. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

That night, they spotted the shopgirl halfway between the shops. On one hand, it seemed an odd, not very safe way to transport money. On the other hand, most people wouldn’t think of a mousy little shopgirl like her to have anything worth stealing. She played it well, too. Walking at a leisurely pace, not giving anything away that she might have something worth taking or that she was going somewhere important. If Red hadn’t stumbled across the knowledge, he wouldn’t have been the wiser. But over the years, he had learned that, more than throwing a knife or picking a lock, finding things out was the skill most useful to thriving in Paradise Circle.

Nettles positioned herself in an alley ahead of the girl, and Red was on the street a block beyond that. Red started walking toward the girl and timed it so that she crossed the alley just as he was about to walk past her. Nettles threw out the blunt, weighted end of her chainblade, striking the girl in the temple. Red was there to catch her before she hit the ground. He quickly moved her into the alley where Nettles waited. Nettles put on the girl’s ragged scarf and hat, then took the small purse of coins meant to be transported to the butcher’s.

“Better not take any yet,” said Red. “They’ll expect to see it when they open the safe.”

Nettles looked doubtfully down at the unconscious shopgirl. “Tell me true, do I really look like her?”

“Sure you do, Nettie. Except prettier.” He winked.

She frowned. “Let’s find out just how full of piss you and this plan are, then.”

Nettles walked the rest of the way to the butcher’s with Red trailing cautiously behind, staying in the shadows or blending in with small clusters of people. The sun was setting and the imp patrols who lit the street lamps hadn’t reached that part of the neighborhood yet, so there was plenty of dark to hide in. Red was pleased to see that Nettles had adopted the same leisurely pace as the shopgirl. He knew it wasn’t easy to act relaxed when you were about to pull a job like this.

Finally they reached the butcher shop. Nettles knocked on the door with the rhythm Red had observed the shopgirl use, and a tense minute later, the door opened. A tall, thick man wearing a bloody apron looked down at her.

“Where’s the usual girl?”

Nettles only hesitated a moment, probably to silently curse Red in her thoughts. “Burned her hand on the oven today, so they sent me instead.”

The man looked at her a moment and Red held his breath, ready to jump in and pull Nettles out if things went leeward. But then the man just nodded.

“Yeah, alright.” He stepped aside and motioned Nettles to come in. As she passed, he said, “Tell the boss he should send you more often,” and swatted her rear.

Nettles paused, and again Red held his breath. She might gut the tom right then and there. It was certainly in her rights to do so. But it would foul the whole job.

“Yeah, alright, maybe I will,” she said and smiled at him. He seemed pleased by the smile, but Red recognized it immediately as the not only will I kill you, I will make it painful smile, and shuddered. He made a mental note to leave that one to her.

Once they were inside, the man pulled the door closed. At the last second, Red threw one of his new two-sided blades, keeping the door slightly ajar. The man pulled the latch to lock it. He might normally have noticed the additional resistance in fastening it, but his eyes were now locked on Nettles.

Once Red could no longer see them in the window, he moved swiftly toward the door. The blade left a small crack between the door and the lintel just wide enough for him to get one of his slim lock picks through to pop the latch. As the door swung open, he retrieved the throwing blade stuck in the lintel and slipped inside.

The front area where customers ordered their cuts was dark. He could hear voices from a doorway on the other side of the counter. He crept forward cautiously, following the sound. The doorway opened into the back room, where sides of meat hung on hooks. There was a big table in the center, stained with years of blood, and buckets with congealed blood beneath. The safe was all the way in the back. In addition to the tom with Nettles, there were two others just as big.

“What’s your name, molly?” one of them asked.

“Ell,” she said, giving her best attempt at a shy smile. It didn’t look very convincing to Red, but the toms seemed to buy it.

As Red waited for them to open the safe, he became aware of a stinging pain in his hand. He looked down and saw his palm was sliced open, a trickle of blood coming out. He must have cut himself when he threw his blade. Clearly his technique needed some refinement.

Finally, the toms stopped flirting long enough to open the safe.

“So, what are you doing later—” one of them began. But then a thrown blade embedded itself in his neck. He grabbed at it, which only made him slice up his hands as well. The one on the other side went down a moment later. That left only the one from the entrance. He stared in shock at his two fellows, who lay choking on their own blood.

“You treacherous slice!” He took a swing at her with his big fist. She dodged to one side and threw her chain so that the blade embedded itself in his wrist. She yanked hard, pulling him off balance as the blade came loose. He stumbled, and she kicked him in the side of his head. He reeled back, swinging wildly with his good hand. Nettles waited for an opening, then threw the weighted end of her chain at his cock. He gave a feeble whimper and dropped to his knees.

Nettles loomed over him. “I’m going to let you live so that you can tell every tom you meet the important lesson of never touching a molly’s ass without her say-so. Keen?” Then she grabbed his head with both hands and slammed her knee into his face. He flopped to the floor, unconscious.

“Nicely done,” said Red.

As they scooped the contents of the safe into a sack, Nettles said, “Why are your hands bleeding?”

“I haven’t figured out how to throw my blades yet without catching myself,” Red admitted.

“Well, until you do, you might want to wear some gloves so you don’t bleed out before the end of a job.”

Red shook his head. “Wouldn’t be able to get gloved fingers through the rings.”

“So cut off the fingers. That would still protect your palms, wouldn’t it?”

“Good idea,” said Red, looking at his sliced-up hands.

“So was this,” said Nettles, nodding to the safe.

He beamed at her. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Good haul, minimum risk. Who knew an artsy ponce from Silverback could work the Circle so well?”

Red chose to view that as a compliment. Nettles was usually extra leaky after a successful job, so he didn’t want to ruin the mood.

*  *  *

The top floor of Slice of Heaven was where the employees who weren’t whores lived. Nettles shared a room with the cleaning woman, Ipsy. Ipsy’s tom was a sailor and often out on the water. When he was in port, she always stayed with him at the Sailor’s Mother, which wasn’t a crimp house anymore, just an inn. She’d been gone the past week, so Red and Nettles had the place all to themselves. This led to a great deal of sex, and that night was no exception.

If you’d asked Red if the sex was good, he’d have said yes, even though he didn’t have any basis of comparison. No tom wanted to admit he didn’t enjoy a toss. It just wasn’t a thing to say. But right after, still sweaty and panting, when he reached for her and she pushed him off, there was always a moment that struck him with a cold and lonely shot to the gut. In those moments, he would try anything to bridge that gap. Nettles didn’t cuddle. She’d made that perfectly clear. Even holding hands irritated her. So he would use words to bridge that gap. Most of the time, as they lay in the dark, he would just rabbit on about whatever popped into his head, and she would respond with noncommittal grunts. But the night they robbed the butcher’s, when he was going on about how he’d ingratiated himself with Neepman to find out the information that helped them succeed that night, she interrupted him.

“Your parents were from Silverback, then?”

“My dad was a whore there, as was his mom, and her dad before him. Long proud line of Silverback whores who served the artistic community for generations. Some call the whores in Silverback the Muses, since they are, on the whole, uncommonly attractive and have inspired many a painter or musician. My dad included.”

“What about your mom?”

At another place and time, Red would have answered more cautiously. He was not completely bludgeon. But in that moment, he was still on a high from the plan and the fight and the money and the sex, and he was so very desperate to close the gap he couldn’t quite admit to himself that he felt. So he spoke crystal.

“My mom was from Hollow Falls.”

“Balls and pricks she was.”

“No, really. That’s how I know how to read. I can paint, too, though I don’t do that much these days.”

“Must be nice, coming from all that privilege.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. So your mom was one of those lacy girls who came down to Silverback with dreams of being a famous painter?”

“She was a famous painter, actually. Until she got sick.”

“From the coral spice, you mean? Your red eyes give that away. Though I never seen ’em on anyone other than a baby.”

“Not just the spice. She had this other problem from the paints. She was real sick toward the end.”

“What was her name?”

“Gulia Pastinas.”

“Lacies always have such fancy names.”

“Lyrical names,” he said absently.

“Odd thing for a proper lacy like her to have a son named Red. Especially with the eyes. It’s a bit pointed, isn’t it?”

“Red is the name Sadie gave me when she took me in.”

“What’s your birth name, then?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don’t know. Just promise.”

“Sure, fine, I promise.”

“My birth name is Rixidenteron.”

There was a long silence.

“Nettie?”

He heard a small rustling, and through the blanket he could feel her shaking. Then she suddenly burst out into the loudest laugh he’d ever heard from her.

“Sorry, sorry!” she gasped between bursts. “I just didn’t expect!” Another burst of laughter. “Something like that!”

“Uh-huh.” Red felt the heat of shame rise in him.

“You’re serious? Really?”

“Yes, that’s my birth name. You can ask Filler. He’s…” He wondered whether it was a good idea to share any more truth that night. But maybe it would help her see what a big deal it was and how much she was hurting him. “He’s the only person I’ve told that to, besides you.”

“I can see why!” Nettles said, and erupted into a fresh burst of laughter.

*  *  *

The next night, Red and Filler sat in their room and shared a jug of ale that Prin had given them for clearing off some rowdy drunks at the Drowned Rat earlier that day. Summer heat had descended on New Laven like a blanket drenched in boiling water, and they sat side by side under the open window, trying to keep cool.

“Nettie came by the shop today to get a few adjustments to her chainblade. Said she gave it a good test last night while you two were on a job.”

“She did,” agreed Red. “My throwing blades worked well, too. Except they cut up my palms.”

“That why you got those leather gloves today from Brimmer?”

“Yeah.”

Filler took a long swallow on the jug. “Today, also. She asked me if it was true about your birth name.”

“Yeah, I told her last night.”

Filler handed Red the jug as he said, “She laughed, you know. When I told her it was true, she about choked on the gad.”

Red took a pull on the jug. “Yeah.” He took another pull, then handed it back to him. “She laughed last night, too.”

“You’re getting sotted with her,” said Filler.

“Am not,” said Red automatically.

Filler gave him a skeptical look and took another swig.

“So what if I am, then?” asked Red. “It’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“It is if she’s not sotted with you.” He handed the jug back to Red.

Red frowned and stuck his thumb in the jug mouth, popping it in and out so it made a hollow noise. He had plenty of doubts himself. But sometimes doubts only made a person want to fight harder to believe. “I think she is sotted with me.”

“Nah. She likes you. And she likes tossing you. But she’s not sotted.”

“How would you know?” Red couldn’t help the defensive tone that was creeping into his voice.

“She don’t look at you the same way you look at her.”

All Red’s fancy talk and agile thinking sometimes just allowed him to run circles around himself faster than most. Sometimes it was Filler, with his simple way, who laid things bare and direct. Said like that from the wag Red knew and trusted above all others, there was nothing to be done but acknowledge it.

He looked at Filler plaintively. “What do I do?”

“Ask her. Maybe I’m wrong. Either way, then you’ll know.”

“But what if we’re supposed to be together? Like fate. Don’t you think we’re perfect for each other?”

“No,” said Filler. “Not really.”

Red looked over at him, his ruby eyes wide with surprise. “I thought you liked Nettles.”

“I like her fine. But she don’t understand you the way you deserve to be understood.”

“You talk like I’m some sort of artsy ponce,” Red said bitterly.

Filler sighed. “Just promise me. When you talk to her, if things go leeward, promise you’ll go see Sadie after.”

Red took a long swallow on the jug, then leaned his head back to rest on the open windowsill so the night winds blew across his sweaty forehead. “Fine. But it won’t come to that. You’ll see. She keeps it close, like any true wag of the Circle. But she’s just as sotted as me.”

*  *  *

Red loved Paradise Circle. More than Silverback, where he’d spent his early childhood. More than the Savage Wind, though those were some of his favorite memories. And certainly more than Hollow Falls, which he’d never set eyes on. Granted, there had been times in his life, especially when he was younger, when he’d wished his aunt Minara would suddenly appear and take him to her uptown lacy mansion. He remembered her a little from the few times she’d come to visit while his mother was alive. Older and more conservative than his mother, but nearly identical in looks and far more gentle in speech and touch. Particularly in those months before he’d met Sadie, he’d longed for that touch. But now he knew those had been the dreams of a weak and frightened child. These days, if he thought about his aunt at all, it was to wonder why she’d never come, and mostly to be glad she hadn’t.

Red loved Paradise Circle, but there were days when the clouds were low and gray, and rain fell not to clean the grimy streets, but only to turn the mud and trash and shit into a fetid soup. Days when every face in the street looked pinched with hunger and hostility, babies wailed for mothers that would never come, and children played listless games next to the bloated, rotting corpse of a horse. It was on days like that Red escaped to the rooftops.

He could see the whole neighborhood up there, and occasionally farther, if the clouds weren’t too low. The air tasted different up there, unspoiled by the sewage that ran down the open gutters along the sides of the streets. And it was quiet up there. The sounds of the neighborhood receded to a murmur beneath the winds that rose up from the sea. For a little while, Red could pretend he was untouched by it all.

The rooftops had always been Red’s alone. Filler wouldn’t have admitted it outright, but he wasn’t fond of heights. And there was no one else he wanted to share this temporary escape with. Until he met Nettles. He’d been trying to decide when the best time would be, and now he knew that it was where he would ask if she wanted him as her tom and she as his molly, forever and always.

Most of the roofs in Paradise Circle were slanted, but Red knew every one that was flat and wide enough to comfortably stand. And as it happened, one of them was a perfect place. Well, perfect symbolically. Just not easy to reach.

“We’re doing what?” asked Nettles as they stood in a side street. She looked up skeptically at the awning above the door.

“If you need help, I can get up there first and throw down a rope.” He’d brought one, just in case.

“I don’t need help, you salthead. I just don’t know why we’re doing it.”

“You’ll see.” Red bounced his eyebrows mysteriously.

Nettles sighed. “Fine.”

They scrambled up onto the awning. From there, they shimmied along a ledge to a windowsill. From the windowsill it was a short jump to a clothesline pulley. Once one of them had the pulley, they had to swing their legs up to hook their heels on the rain gutter, then curl up to reach their hands on the gutter, and pull themselves up to the roof.

“Piss’ell.” Nettles massaged her hands. “How did you even figure that out?”

“It took a bit of doing,” said Red. “But if it were easy, everybody would be up here, right? Look at this view and tell me it wasn’t worth it.”

He gestured with both hands to the rooftops that stretched out in all directions. The old temple and some of the other building tops were shrouded in the mist, which Red thought added a nicely magical touch. Even though it was still a while before sunset, the street lamps had already been lit in this section of the neighborhood, which made the fog luminescent.

“Huh,” said Nettles.

“And of course, when you look down there, you’ll see why I chose this particular rooftop.” He pointed down to the intersection below with a flourish and a sly smile.

Nettles looked down at it, her expression unreadable.

Red waited.

Finally, Nettles shook her head. “Sorry. Not getting it. Why this rooftop?”

“Because it overlooks the intersection where we first kissed!” he said.

“Oh yeah. I guess it was.” Nettles looked around again, then rubbed her hands together. “A bit chilly. Why are we up here again?”

“Well, I just…” The reason seemed so obvious to Red that he had a hard time putting it into words. “It’s sort of special. For us.”

She nodded.

“And…” Red’s heart picked up speed. His hands were already sweating. His mouth was suddenly dry. He was actually nervous. Maybe it was Filler planting doubts in his head. Maybe it was the fact that Nettles clearly wasn’t getting the whole romantic rooftop thing. Whatever the reason, he found his words catching in his throat as he looked at her.

She gazed at him through narrowed eyes, her arms crossed. “You’re acting a bit slippy. What’s going on?”

“I know—  I— Sorry,” he sputtered. Then he took a deep breath and tried again. “You are the finest molly I’ve ever met. Won’t you be mine for keeps?” He reached his hand out to her.

She stared at his extended hand like it was something she didn’t recognize. The longer she stared, the lower Red’s stomach sank.

“I like you, Red,” she said quietly. “I like being with you. I like tossing with you. I would go far enough to say that I like you better than anyone I know. Except myself. I like me best of all. I ain’t nobody’s molly, and never will be. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Red stared at her. He was still standing, but on the inside he felt himself collapsing.

“You keen?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said numbly. “My mistake.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Now, don’t get all poncey on me, Rixie,” she said teasingly.

It was the worst thing she could have said, and his walk turned into a run.

“Red? Come on, I was only joking!”

But he jumped to the next roof and kept running. He’d spent months trying to get as close as possible to this molly, and now he couldn’t stand to be anywhere near her. He kept running from roof to roof, sliding on the treacherous angles of some of them, but never stopping until he came to a space too wide to jump. Below him was a long line of tents. He had reached Gunpowder Hall. He hadn’t come here on purpose. But maybe there was a part of him deep down that had been drawn to this place. Or more specifically, to a person in this place.

*  *  *

Off to one side in Gunpowder Hall was a small cluster of tables where the old wrinks congregated. Red saw Sadie among them, leaning back against a table, her legs stretched out into the aisle. Life was hard in the Circle, and the last eight years had taken their toll on her. Her matted hair was mostly gray, her skin sagged a great deal, and she was missing more than a few teeth. But her eyes were still sharp and her mind was still quick. Most importantly, she was alive, which was better than many of her contemporaries. Few people were savvy enough to make it to old age in Paradise Circle. So anyone who did was given a measure of respect and generally left alone to reminisce, or whatever it was the old wrinks did in their corner.

“Well, don’t you look pissed and peppered,” Sadie observed.

Red sat down next to her with an ungraceful flop. “I’m a bludgeon cock-dribble.”

“Damned if you are,” said Sadie. “What’s this all about?”

“There’s this girl…”

“Oh, we’re there, are we?” she asked gravely. “Out with it. Who did what?”

“She doesn’t want me to be her tom. She—she didn’t even say why.”

“Like as not, she did. Just wasn’t something you could understand, or maybe didn’t want to hear.”

“Maybe I’m ugly.”

“You don’t even believe that.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like my eyes. Some people think I’m evil, you know. On account of my red eyes.”

“There’s a lot of stupid people in the world. This molly you’re sotted with, she stupid?”

Red shook his head.

“Then she don’t think you’re evil.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a proper wag of the Circle.”

“Why’d you even say a thing like that?”

“She said it. When I told her I was from Silverback.”

“Now that is a load of balls and pricks. Do you look out for your wags?”

Red nodded.

“Do you stand for your freedom and the Circle in the face of the imps and any who would take it from us?”

“Of course.”

“That’s all you need, then.”

“So you don’t think I’m privileged, coming from Silverback and having family in Hollow Falls?”

“Oh, I do,” she said. “But that don’t mean you ain’t a true wag of the Circle. To my mind, it just means you have more to do. You’re smart with all them books you read. You understand better than most how it is, and more importantly what might be done to fix it. As long as you stick with that and always show your quality, I’d say you earned your place in the Circle.”

*  *  *

Red left Gunpowder Hall with Sadie’s words still singing in his head. It didn’t make Nettles’s rejection sting any less, but at least it gave him some hope that he did fit here after all.

There was something off about the market outside the hall. It was late afternoon, still before sunset. The tents should have been crowded. But everything was shut up, as if ready for a hurricane. Except the breeze was far too light for a storm.

Then he saw that this storm was not natural, but imperial. A squad of imps were working their way down the line of tents, harassing those who hadn’t been fast enough or smart enough to close in time. While it was true that the imps had never infiltrated Gunpowder Hall, they occasionally made raids on the market, like rattling the bars to remind people that a safe haven could just as easily be a cage. That’s how it was in the Circle, and the best thing for Red to do was move on, grateful it wasn’t him getting the beating.

But then he stopped. It might be how it was, but Red knew it shouldn’t be. This was what Sadie had been telling him. He should know better. This was all wrong. He was all wrong. Letting the imps pound on other wags. Stealing from other wags like poor Neepman, or even Deadface Drem. Sure, Drem was a drug-peddling, murderous scum. But he was doing things for this community. He was part of this community. It was these invaders, these boots of the emperor, who were the real enemy. And they needed to understand how it was in the Circle, just like everyone else.

Red pulled on his new fingerless gloves as he silently wove between the tents. When he drew near the imps, he saw who it was they were harassing and in that moment, he knew that no matter how things went, he’d be forever glad he made the choice to not pass this by. Because they were at the smithy tent, and they had Filler on his knees in front of the tent. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his eye had already begun to swell.

“Making weapons so your wags can kill imps, is that it?” one of them sneered, then kicked Filler in the stomach.

Filler doubled over, then slowly rose up again, his face folded in absolute hatred. He’d lost a more respectable smithy apprenticeship because he’d refused to do work for an imp officer. Now they’d followed him to Gunpowder Hall. No doubt, when they’d stepped into that smithy tent, they hadn’t expected him to put up a fight. But imps had killed Filler’s parents, and he never could show restraint around them after that.

One of the imps came out of the smithy tent, wearing one of the thick leather smithy gloves and holding a glowing poker hot from the forge. “I don’t think you’ll be making any more weapons once we’ve put out your eyes.”

Red’s throwing blade embedded in the imp’s arm, causing his hand to spasm and the poker to drop onto his boot, searing quickly through the thin leather. Three more blades found exposed necks. Filler grabbed the fifth imp’s head and twisted hard enough to break his neck.

“You’re all murderous, thieving filth!” screamed the imp with the throwing blade in his arm. Blood dripped from it as he trained his rifle on Red. “Your deaths make this place a tiny bit better.”

Red was out of throwing blades and Filler was too far away to help. The imp cocked his rifle, wincing at the pain in his arm. But the barrel remained steady as he took aim.

Then a metal jingle rang through the air as Nettles’s chainblade shot out, the blade burying itself in the imp’s ear. She yanked hard on the chain, his shot went wide, and he fell twitching into the mud.

“Thanks, Nettie!” said Filler.

Red remained silent, eyeing her warily. He wasn’t sure at all what to make of this or how he felt about it.

“When you ran off like that, I figured you’d find trouble of some kind,” said Nettles as she coiled her chain and wiped the blade clean.

Still Red said nothing as he walked from body to body, retrieving his throwing blades.

“Look,” she said. “I wanted a fun, easy toss. You wanted romance. I’m sorry we couldn’t give each other what we wanted. But whatever else we were or are, I will always be there to pull you out of a bind. Keen?”

She held out her hand.

It wasn’t what he wanted exactly. But that, too, was how it was in the Circle. You didn’t often get what you wanted exactly. Nettles wouldn’t be the molly he wanted. But she was one hell of a fighter, and in the Circle, you were bludgeon if you didn’t accept an alliance when it was offered.

So even though there was a small part of him that still ached, he took her hand and gripped it hard. “Yeah, alright. Likewise, I guess.”