Ashcoil Row's twisting alleys didn't slow Els. She emerged onto a broad street and vanished at the next fork. If these streets held secrets she and Kael hadn't heard of, they had to be buried deep underground, or they were nothing but bedtime stories.
Tonio's gaze occasionally trailed behind, and Kael's followed. It wasn't the beggar who haunted Kael, but his words.
An unknown god actively collecting debts through cursed tokens that might have been a currency of the slums long before his birth. Only to the powerful, or Tonio would have recognised them.
He'd prefer to believe the beggar invented it all. But there was still a chance, however small, that he didn't. Perhaps Garrick truly collected these cursed tokens to write off his debt.
And it made him shudder beneath his bloody shirt, then sigh.
Eight bastards became nine... great.
The sting of a flick on the back of his hand snapped him out. He turned toward Els, who rolled her eyes.
"You've been sighing the entire way. No tokens, no trouble, even if that madman likely believes he's a bishop of an imaginary god. Or is Lana you're afraid of?"
"Of her gossip? Terrified, as you should."
Els rounded a corner, and they stepped into the street they had lived in.
The cold burial pit choked Els' shack with a stench of decomposition. Beyond the thick bridge on the opposite side, factories exhaled clouds of toxic steam. Kael lifted his shirt to his nose, his lips twisting behind the fabric.
Marc's house, a crooked monster of soot-covered plated stones, rose before the bridge to the industrial district. On the stoop, the man leaned on his cane, his hat tilting as he locked the door.
"Move before he leaves."
Before Kael finished, Els pressed toward Marc. Miners on their way raised their pickaxes at them before freezing, as if they recognised them but couldn't be sure since Els sped past them.
"Marc!" She waved at him just as he stepped onto the bridge.
Marc turned, threads fraying from his burgundy suit. His face wasn't anything special. Pale and thin as any slum-born with dry yellow hair jutting like weed from beneath his dark hat. He scowled, slender fingers clenching the round end of his crude cane. "Your hands and feet look fine enough for you to work for your own bread. I've nothing to share, especially not your trouble."
"Humph. Already forgot us?" Els planted her fist on her hip.
Marc's green eyes studied Els, but Kael cut to the chase. He'd rather hear the beggar had lied than let that stuck-up man waste time he could spend sleeping. "Tharos sent us."
Marc stepped back, his eyes shooting wide open, and his cane trembling. His mouth, too. For a heartbeat. Then, he slammed it shut and strode to them, his face like charcoal about to ignite. He halted midway, his hands trembling on his cane. "Kael and Els?"
"Shh. Don't answer. Don't even speak. To my house." His gaze drifted to Tonio's hairy face. "With your... friend."
While he ran to the door, a drop of cold sweat dripped down Kael and Els' temples. They didn't need words; a glance was enough. Was the beggar right, at least partly? Then all the rest might be true...
Tonio broke their stupor with a nudge toward the door. "Hungry. Tired."
His warm palms patted their shoulders, and he nudged them up the stoop's stairs. For a moment, they paused before the doorway. Darkness shrouded the interior, dripping from the corners of the frame like ink spilt by Kael's paranoia.
Who was Marc, truly? Not just the factory worker, stuck-up man who thought his farts didn't stink; someone who knew more than he let on.
Someone dangerous.
"Protect family." Tonio knocked on his chest, then walked in first.
"Wait—"
The darkness swallowed Tonio and Kael's calls.
Biting his lip, Kael nodded at Els, and she hurried behind Tonio. The moment they entered, the door rattled shut behind them.
A familiar red carpet laced with violet-edged spherical patterns stretched beneath his shoes. The oil lamps were cold on peeling beige walls that seemed to cry their color. He stared past Tonio, who kept his fists raised.
Opposite them, Marc leaned against a thick dining table mounted on four curved legs. He knocked his cane on stones five times before letting it rest against the table to interlock his fingers beneath his nose.
"Things would be much different if someone else dared to speak that name to me, children. Forget the man who told you about it, how it sounds, and never pronounce it again. Am I clear?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I almost didn't recognise your exhausted and bloody faces. Rough week, huh? But rough's better than dead, and we all thought you were rotting in the burial pit. Especially Ben. The others tied the madman to a chair to prevent him from shattering a couple of skulls to avenge Els. Well, all's fine. I wager that... man cared for you. Thank you, friend."
As he nodded at Tonio, Els clasped her hands against her chest, the corners of her lips curling. "Uncle, Ben..."
Tonio nodded back.
"All's far from fine, Marc." Kael left Els' side and limped forward.
Marc didn't let him talk. His voice shifted from mild relief to grim. "Did you trade yourselves?"
"What?" Kael's eyes widened. He didn't ask. He screamed as if he had been accused of the worst atrocity he could imagine.
"My question's clear."
Kael glanced at Els. Her pupils constricted into pinpricks, and her hand tightened around her chest. "Have you lost your mind?"
He swung his hand a little too hard. "I would never let Els prostitute herself, you madman."
"What? That's not what I meant, brats. Still... that's a relief." Marc spread his palms, then sighed. "That ghost of a forgotten man rarely appears. When he does, he offers enchanted items, or powers you'd pay for in decades."
"Truths?" Kael stepped back.
"So you took his bargain..." Marc lowered his face, his hands slack on his thighs.
"We didn't." Els shook her head, and Marc lifted his face. "We met a beggar who felt our tokens. He said he'd trade them for a clue to safety, then mentioned the unanchored and that you could lead us to them."
Kael crossed his arms over his chest. "Looks like he was right. You know about truths. Who are you, and who's that beggar?"
Silence slithered between them for a breath. Then, Marc smiled for the first time. "Kael, my dear, winter's over. You look ridiculous wrapped in all these blankets."
Kael choked, and Marc continued.
"Relax. I'm the same Marc you've known since you crawled on all fours. How did you call me again? The stuck-up man? Hahaha. Anyhow, from the day Garrick ruled the slums, what you call 'tokens' became luxury currency. I can't imagine how you found three on your own, not that you could trade anything substantial with so little. You're already knee deep in this swamp, and I would hate to see friends' children commit terrible—terrible—mistakes. You're tired, but you must know. Not tomorrow. Not after you entertain ideas you'll regret for two lifetimes. Now."
Kael's fingers tightened around his arms. Either Marc lied, or everything the beggar said was true.
"For centuries, we've traded these tokens with the only god who spread divine words in this pit of endless despair." Marc's voice trailed off. His pupils fluttered when he closed his eyes, as if he remembered things he preferred to leave forgotten... or as if he couldn't forget them even if he wanted.
"Malchor, the Price-Taker, we call him. Information, healing, truths, nothing's out of his reach. Everything's unaffordable for humans. Or did you think gods would bargain with us? We soon understood. Power offered now... for catastrophic costs later."
Kael's knees numbed. So that was how people anchored truths before. But catastrophic costs?
The hunched beggar flickered in his mind, especially how his wrinkles subsided and how his back straightened after he got the three tokens. That was the debt, or part of it, and each token slowly cleared it.
It struck him like a hammer in the spine. Garrick. That bastard collected the tokens to cleanse his debt before Malchor asked him to pay.
Marc knocked on his table, nodding at Kael. "I can tell you understand how unfair these deals are. You're not even close. We still used them when the boar head of a king starved us, when nobles worse than evil spawns took away wives and children, and when enforcers killed fathers and mothers for their entertainment."
Els coughed behind Kael. He heard her breath quicken.
"We forced concessions from them. Spread the eight gods' faith. Carry out the harvest festival every year so that no one will starve again. After that, enforcers and priests scheduled hunts for the heretics, and we wiped Malchor's cursed bargains from the slums..."
Marc slammed his fist down, but he barely stopped himself before hitting the table. When he spoke again, his voice cracked like scorched stones.
"Until Garrick overthrew the Broken Chain. I don't know how he found out, but he knew what monopolising the tokens would get him."
Kael ignored Tonio's growl at Garrick's mention. A chill traced his spine, and Marc's odd speech pattern made him shift on his feet. "We?"
Marc's smile collapsed. "Slum-born... of course. I have a more important question in mind. How did you learn about truths?" He raised a brow at Tonio. "Did this taciturn friend teach you?"
Marc's gaze snapped on the filthy window, and his face drained. He gripped his cane and held his hat as he charged to the door. "Freeze me, Kraghor! I'm late to work! Anyway, you're safe here. Rest in any room. Leftovers are in the kitchen. We'll talk and eat after my shift."
As Marc slammed the door behind him, Kael scratched his head. "He left like that... Without telling us about the unanchored, the beggar, or Tharos? This is... ridiculous."
"He always did whatever he wanted..." Els bit her lip. "What he told us feels like a drunkard's tale. But tales are truer than the reality we've known these days. I... need to lay down."
Kael glanced at his hovering ledger before shaking his head. Later. "Let's get ourselves a room."
On the stairs to the first floor, Tonio grumbled. "Bad Garrick." A frown creased his brow in the shadows of the somber corridor. "Know Marc... No remember."
"You will if it matters." Hands on the doorknob of the first room, Kael glanced at Els and Tonio. "We've known Marc since we were toddlers. Doesn't mean we have to trust him. We're together. That will never change."
Els and Tonio nodded, and he pushed the door open. The moment their eyes landed on the old but clean, ornate red sheets tucked on the large central bed, their mouths shut tight.
They lunged inside, each sliding beneath the sheet. Before Kael reached the pillow, he was already asleep.
While Tonio removed his round glasses and coiled beside him, Els sighed. "Can't even rest properly."
Smiling, she undid the blankets wrapped around his limbs, set the arrows down, and removed his shoes. Still not enough.
Tonio covered his ears when she unbuttoned Kael's shirt and applied greasy ointment that reeked of sulfur and things she'd rather not know to every bruise. Finally, she whispered for Tonio's help. The rat-man held Kael's head up while she wrapped clean medicinal herbs and bandages around his wounded forehead.
"Now you'll sleep better, mister 'don't waste time treating me'." She rubbed Tonio behind his round ears and slid beside Kael. "Sleep well, Tonio."
Tonio yawned and chuckled simultaneously. Three heartbeats later, only the sound of their steady breaths echoed across the room.