Sojourn: An Anthology of Speculative Fiction (Volume 2)

By Fear the Boot, LLC

The talented storytellers of the Fear the Boot podcast community have returned with a new collection of worlds for you to explore. This time around, the authors were given a theme. The theme was a single word: winter. Whether it is the cold chill outside or the ice within our hearts, these stories examine, in their own unique way, aspects of win

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fear the Boot, LLC
• Release date: Nov 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9780991487721

Book preview

Introduction

I can’t believe it’s happening already: not even Halloween, and the Christmas decorations are coming up in stores. It seems like it starts earlier every year. But I suppose this isn’t abnormal. Humans have always prepared for winter long in advance of its arrival.

My husband is excited. Winter is his favorite season. He loves the chill, putting on sweaters and cardigans, the way the air itself smells almost like frost mixed with the woody scent of blazing fireplaces warming the neighbors. If he could choose any one job in the universe, he would choose to be Santa.

I view winter differently. I’m suspicious of the season, and I don’t tend to get excited about much beyond a beautiful, fresh snow. I associate winter with layers of clothes, when really I just want to run around in a tank top. I have to wear shoes or, even worse, boots. My feet demand freedom, but there’s no way to wear sandals in winter!

I think of stalled cars and the people who don’t keep blankets, cat litter, flares, granola bars, and water in their vehicles. I think of cars buried under snow that was shoved on top of them by the plows. I think of icicles of snot dangling from my nose; ears so cold that they burn; Alfred Packer and company stranded in the Rocky Mountains and forced to cannibalize each other to survive.

Don’t get me wrong; I know there are good things about winter. Helping my niece build a snowman is fun. I enjoy skiing, though not very often. Sledding is one of the best things, even though I’ve fallen off countless sleds and almost seriously injured myself. Maybe most important is feeling my allergies lessen for a few months.

What I don’t always remember about winter, though, is that it can be a season of forward thinking and hope. Unless we happen into Fimbulwinter, the unending winter that happens right before Ragnarök, winter will end. It’s not a matter of if but when.

The authors of this anthology reminded me of that. Some of them shared my opinion on winter, its harsh and unforgiving attitude toward life. But so many authors wrote about hope and the future amidst a season of death.

These stories show winter in all its unique attributes, displaying the good and the bad of the season. Within this anthology, you’ll find stories about death and rebirth. Valiant heroes fighting against great evils to save the world. There’s love and compassion, and depictions of Winter herself, sometimes cold and unfeeling, sometimes longing for love. You’ll find great capers and stories so dark that they’d give Tim Burton nightmares.

So come, enjoy your sojourn here, and see what winter means to these authors. Maybe you’ll discover a story that reminds you of the short days and long nights, of snowball fights and home-cooked meals, blizzards and snowshoes.

— Laura K. Anderson

Gnarl Saves Christmas

Dan Repperger

Dan Repperger got his start working for FASA and AWOL on the Battletech series in the mid-1990s. Thereafter, he wrote serial fiction and political editorial for Keep It Coming. Today he’s best known as the moderating host of Fear the Boot, an RPG podcast. He resides in St. Peters, Missouri with his wife, three dogs, and devon rex cat.

The author would like to thank Pat Roper for letting him borrow Ceryn (pronounced [ˈser-ən]) for this story.

Maddie and Ian dug deep in their beds,

Warm quilts for their bodies and down for their heads.

Snow fell outside, the harshest winter could send,

So Grandpa closed curtains to quiet the wind.

Tell us a story, the young children pled.

One about Christmas as we lie here in bed.

The old man nodded and took off his glasses,

Grabbing a chair made for elderly asses.

"There’s a long time to go until morning’s first light,

"And every child deserves a Christmas story tonight.

"There are piles and mountains of tales I could tell,

"But there’s one I love most and know very well,

"Passed down in our family for decades stacked tall,

"From the oldest of old to the smallest of small.

"In a forgotten land of great wonder and deed.

Where brave men fought monsters and bragged over mead.

"Wait, dear Grandpa, before you continue,

Tell Ian and me of this drink on their menu!"

Grandpa rubbed his chin and pondered a bit.

"It’s a drink made of honey that helps me forget.

Now keep your mouths shut while imagination takes flight,

For there’s much I must tell, and we’ve only one night."

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In a faraway place and quite ancient age,

A strange people once lived, filled with passion and rage.

These people were gnolls, a mix of man and mad dog,

Who’d eat up an elf the way we would a hog.

Their fur was of bronze and claws sharp for a fight,

And mouths full of teeth, always ready to bite.

The gnolls lived in clans that were always divided,

But one gnoll had dreamt of all gnolls united.

His real name is said to be impossible to say,

Except by a dog’s mouth, like that on Aunt Fay.

To keep his life simple and better fit in,

He just went by Gnarl in cities of men.

He’d built up a keep, a formidable fort,

And gathered more gnolls to lend him support.

His clan was the White Mask, for the paint on their faces,

They spoke truth and honor, but lacked any graces.

Still Gnarl was awed by the works of our hands:

Vast cities and armies, never built by gnoll clans.

While on his travels, he’d made one true friend,

And he was a human, which was not gnollish trend.

A man of great power who lived many years,

He’d died many times and lost all his fears.

Though great in magic, his heart was quite barren,

This all-mighty man was the wizard named Ceryn.

He had first met the gnolls in a great war of old,

Then traveled with them and conquered Tarn’s Hold.

Now this was the city Ceryn ruled in that day,

And in the lands to the west, the White Mask held sway.

In matters of friendship Gnarl was still a beginner,

But Ceryn could come for lunch without staying as dinner.

Forget not this man: a wondrous old soul,

But for the moment, let’s talk of Gnarl the gnoll.

On a night like tonight, his clan sought out their prey,

For the eyes of gnolls love night more than day.

Gnarl sat on his throne, behind fortress and gate,

With all six of his pups and Sharpa his mate.

Fire roared in the corner, roasting their meat,

Food taken from bandits who they’d also soon eat.

But then all at once, the throne room went strange!

Something new happened, one hell of a change!

The fire went dark, its flames clearing a path,

And down from the chimney came a man with a laugh.

He was jolly and round and full of good cheer,

Like me, your grandfather, by his third or fourth beer.

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Was it Santa? asked Maddie, eyes lively and darting,

Cuz if it was you, there’d be cussing and farting.

"It was Santa indeed, no stranger to us,

But gnolls did not know him, which caused quite a fuss.

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This man had a smile and bore gifts in his sack,

But Gnarl was quite hungry and just grabbed his ax.

Fat men are not health food for you or for me,

But what cardiologist would gnollish folk see?

So they clawed and they fought and they chopped him to bits,

Then put what was left on their wrought iron spits.

Gnarl and Sharpa hardly could speak

For they’d not fought a wizard so laughably weak.

Whatever the foe, the job can’t be shoddy,

So Gnarl was quick to loot Santa Claus’ body.

He first took the clothes that were worn by the dead,

And cast them aside—he looked dreadful in red.

But what of the sack, now a bit bloody,

Why, this magic bag should go to Ceryn for study!

Gnarl and his kin finished their feast,

Each pup eating plenty, from greatest to least.

But with morning now coming, it was time for their sleep.

Sharpa gathered her pups in a warm, furry heap.

She took Santa’s clothes and the hat from his head,

And made for the pups a warm, woolen bed.

Gnarl made sure that all the windows were closed,

To keep out the light the whole time that they dozed.

But he stayed up longer, for there was business to do,

And it wasn’t just finishing Santa Claus stew.

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"Grandpa, such horror, but please tell us true!

What was Gnarl’s recipe, in the form of haiku?

soft flesh, iron pot

pull cold weeds to push fresh heat

Santa’s final cheer

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Now there still sat, amongst the blood and the splatter,

The magical bag, a most serious matter.

Just letting it rot seemed like a pity,

So Gnarl would take it to Ceryn’s great city.

Tarn’s Hold was not far from the White Mask clan home,

And to help Ceryn’s people, Gnarl made his scouts roam,

Watching for bandits that would otherwise prey,

Upon the merchants and farmers that traveled this way.

So Gnarl’s clan was beloved by the people nearby.

Most monsters weren’t trusted, but for these few they’d try.

Their city stood strong, walls of stone and not wood,

Built just as tall as the engineers could.

Its roads were quite busy with people moving along,

Though Gnarl’s mere presence kept parting the throng.

He walked down the streets, past the homes and the shops,

The masons and farmers and smiths and the fops.

He seemed a good-aligned gnoll, so the locals kept trying

To sell him their wares, the merchants’ calls vying,

For his attention and coin, the gnoll’s silvery stacks,

But a different noise stopped Gnarl dead in his tracks.

By the time he had reached the middle of town,

He’d noticed each child he’d seen had a frown.

They’d seen gnolls enough to not have such fears,

So why were small faces all covered in tears?

When gnoll puppies cried, he’d give them a nip,

But Don’t bite our children! had been Ceryn’s tip.

He grabbed a merchant with one of his paws,

Asking the man of the distress and its cause.

Is the town in some danger, should we start taking arms?

No, the man answered, "do not sound the alarms,

"For the problem we have can’t be solved by a fight.

Santa Claus didn’t visit the homes here last night.

Now this left Gnarl as confused as before,

For he’d never heard this name in his own people’s lore.

Who is Santa Claus and why should he show,

In all of these houses, despite the cold and the snow?

He let the man go with no further hassle,

And continued his trek toward Ceryn’s great castle.

It was certainly odd to see the children so down,

But that had nothing to do with Gnarl’s trip into town.

He arrived at the fortress, to its gate from the east.

The guards standing there stepped aside for the beast.

The chambers inside were dressed in great wealth,

Paintings and rugs of the wizard himself.

Then there were trophies and furs from great bears,

And the heads of two dragons flanking the stairs.

He finally found Ceryn eating a meal.

After taking a seat, Gnarl told his ordeal.

He spoke of the fat man that came to his brood,

He was jolly, perhaps, but he sought to intrude.

He told of the slaughter and which pups fought best,

Then showed him the bag that he’d pulled from the mess.

Ceryn stopped eating, his mouth open a bit,

And his whole host of servants looked set for a fit.

"Do you know what you’ve done with your ax and your paws?

"The man that you killed was the great Santa Claus!

"I might reconsider, though I’m rarely mistaken,

"But I’m rather convinced by this bag that you’ve taken.

"Santa’s magic is strange, not like spells I would use,

"For he’s meant to cheer children, not fill out your stews!

"We call this day Christmas, when he comes to bring presents,

"Never for me, but he shuts up the peasants.

"Now we must fix this and make it all well.

If people hear what you did, they might just rebel.

Gnarl took a moment to ponder and think,

And Ceryn declared that he needed a drink.

That the wizard was worried he couldn’t conceal,

But breakfast was served, so on with the meal!

Then he perked up, his eyes suddenly bright.

He knew how to repair the previous night.

"I have just the thing, if you’ll lend me your ear.

A big plan, a plot, the perfect idea!

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The children jumped from their beds with a very loud shout,

"Why, Grandpa, what’s all this nonsense about?

Those lines don’t rhyme to us or to you!

Grandpa replied, But in England they do.

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Gnarl declared, "Good Ceryn, you’ll kiss us,

"When you hear how I and my gnolls will save Christmas!

"My children are using his clothes like a bed.

"I’m not a big fan; I look awful in red,

"But I can use them to make a wondrous disguise,

And use the bag to give each child their prize.

"What of his beard and his quite human face?

"I’m not sure a gnoll can take Santa Claus’ place.

"And what if you wake our families still sleeping?

When Santa Claus works, he’s perfect at creeping.

"Ceryn, you’ve known me for many long years,

"So focus on breakfast, not such silly fears.

"With his hat pulled down low, my face shouldn’t be weird,

"And I’ll just kill a dwarf for the requisite beard.

"As for the sleeping, you forget gnollish sight!

"I see in darkness as if it were light.

"Tell your people ‘Be quiet, sit still, and wait,

For Santa will come, he’ll just be a night late.’

Gnarl leapt up and snatched the sack from the floor,

Then smiled to Ceryn and ran for the door.

A gnoll is quite focused when set on a deed;

He needed to muster all of his speed.

Most townsfolk made way, for Gnarl was large;

It would certainly hurt to be caught in his charge.

Just minutes later, he was back with his clan,

Ready to change from gnoll into man.

Sharpa looked cross when he burst in the den.

"Gnarl-Sharish, just where have you been?

"The pups will not sleep and keep getting ruder,

So I gave them the bones from last night’s intruder.

"Then let’s put them to work, for there’s much to be done!

"His death gave us mirth, but now humans have none.

"If we don’t complete his unfinished labors,

"There might be a war between us and our neighbors.

"Bring me the clothes, a scrap from each pup!

"And a needle and thread to sew them back up.

"Tonight I’ll put presents under each tree.

If a human can do it, how hard can it be?

They worked many hours til the sun finally set,

Gnarl’s costume was finished—well, as good as it’d get.

The red rags were stitched into a patchwork of clothes,

Floppy hat on his head, and dwarf’s beard on his nose.

But Sharpa saw something amiss in his state,

Your belly’s much smaller than the one that we ate!

Gnarl thought deep about how to add bloat,

Then he told all the pups, Pile into my coat!

So in they each went, clinging one to another,

And they made themselves pass for Santa Claus’ blubber.

Now ready to go, Gnarl got under way,

Still trying to make sense of this strange holiday.

You see, years ago, humans warred with the gnolls,

The blades on both sides taking great tolls.

Yet in all of his raids, things were never like this,

For he’d never broken and entered to leave people gifts!

Dressed up like Santa, Gnarl traveled with stealth,

Ready to spread the holiday wealth.

The gate watch saw as he tried to slip by,

And to think he was Santa, you’d have to be high.

But stopping crazed gnolls was a burdensome task,

So they all looked away and just didn’t ask.

Gnarl picked a house to start off his quest,

He tried to keep quiet—he was doing his best.

Not that the effort bore any fruit,

For giant, clawed feet make tiptoeing moot.

The door creaked as it opened, scaring the dad,

Since nocturnal guests were usually bad.

He ran to the den with a small, rusted knife,

From this crimson-clad monster, he feared for his life.

Gnarl acted unthinking, instincts in control,

And did just what you’d expect from any old gnoll.

He caught the man’s neck and then shattered his spine,

Each pup yelling, The best meat is mine!

The mother rushed in, her lamp casting light,

Shining on Gnarl, the corpse from the fight.

She panicked and fought, yelling her dead lover’s name,

That set off his dog-mind, so he killed her the same.

Then Gnarl heard a new sound, quiet and mild.

From the scent he could tell, they had woken a child.

Now Ceryn had warned him Santa’s not to be seen,

And holding two corpses would make him look mean.

With this much of a mess, there was no easy cheat,

So he just tossed the bodies to the snow-covered street.

In walked the girl, rubbing her eyes.

She could not contain her giddy surprise.

She saw no sign of her mom or her dad,

But the sight of dear Santa made her instantly glad.

"You came! You’re real! I’m full of such joy!

But why aren’t you jolly, and where is my toy?

Now Gnarl was still not used to this role,

But he was determined to finish his holiday goal.

Try as he did, his laugh was a cackle,

His lips showing fangs as he screamed like a jackal.

The girl shrieked in horror and started to pee,

Giving him time to put a gift by the tree.

Then he slipped back outside, past the bodies still bleeding,

Resisting the urge for a mid-visit feeding.

Perhaps not perfect, but it had been Gnarl’s best.

One house down, now to visit the rest.

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"Grandpa, how many homes are inside of this place?

"You’ll be dead before the story is done, at this pace.

"Please tell us about Gnarl and his pup entourage,

"But can you shorten his visit into a montage?

"And we want to add one other parameter!

Make this part a sonnet in iambic pentameter!

"You bastards’ requests are getting alarming.

One more like this, and I’ll make Gnarl look charming.

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Goodbye first house, quick to the next abode.

Forlorn were children just one night before.

Now gifts appeared whenever Gnarl bestowed.

He finished one street, now just fifty more!

The townsfolk slept and dreamt of kinder fare,

In houses cold and wrapped in stars’ soft light,

Beneath their blankets safe and unaware,

Of gnollish efforts to make Christmas right.

The monsters searched out the entire Hold,

Forswearing rest to give out gifts for free,

Ignoring the guard, undaunted by the cold,

And leaving presents underneath each tree.

With Santa dead and off his yearly run,

A gnoll and his pups got gift-giving done.

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"So, Grandpa, had Gnarl atoned for his sin?

And can you change meter and rhyme scheme again?

"I’ll give you the answer without verbal contortion.

I swear I’m rethinking post-birth abortion.

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Gnarl got home before the sunrise,

Took out the pups and ditched his disguise.

His young hit the floor and went straight to bed,

But many thoughts swirled inside Gnarl’s head.

So deciding to skip another day’s sleep,

He made haste and ran right back to the keep,

Seeking the wizard that ruled over the Hold,

Young in appearance, but countless years old.

The gnoll found him sitting in a dining hall chair,

Having his breakfast with a young lady fair.

Good Ceryn, called Gnarl, interrupting their meal,

We have a task to attend, a wondrous ordeal!

"Gnarl, what task makes you suddenly trumpet,

"That you would be rude in front of this strumpet?

"I’ll hear you out, perhaps later today,

But for the moment, it’s here I must stay.

Now the beastman was rushed, with urgency true,

And the wizard’s hesitation just wouldn’t do.

Gnarl pondered just what would cause this delay,

Then he understood: The blonde had no ring on display!

What happened next, Gnarl didn’t mean as a sin,

But gnolls mate like dogs, without the romance of men.

He went near the table and addressed the young lass,

Even grabbing a bottle to refill her glass.

Dear lady, he said, "you’ve made my friend’s cut.

"I’ll bring him back later so you two can rut.

"You’ll have lovely pups that I’ll come and I’ll visit,

And I’ll find you a den—one truly exquisite.

Ceryn went pale, his words just a stutter.

His charm made her swoon, her heart set aflutter.

Now Gnarl had made him a man with no class

Whose efforts in love were about getting ass.

Now just as soon as Gnarl stopped all his yapping,

She gave the Lord’s cheek a heck of a slapping.

Among gnolls, such fighting was seen as good fun,

So Gnarl decided his work here was done.

"Now that I’ve paired you, let’s go into town,

And see all the peasants that no longer frown!

The wizard got up from his mid-morning meal,

Reluctantly accepting the monster’s appeal.

Tenacity like this was just Gnarl’s way,

If Ceryn didn’t go now, he’d do this all day.

The wizard and gnoll went from the gate to the city,

Gnarl so anxious, almost bounding and giddy.

But soon even he had ceased all his smiling,

For instead of cheering, the children were crying.

"I don’t understand! What haven’t I done?

"I went to each house, I didn’t miss one.

"Is this some peculiar human holiday gag?

For each child that’s crying got a gift from the bag!

Ceryn didn’t want this to tarnish his reign,

So he asked a few townsfolk to stop and explain.

He listened intently, not saying a word,

Then went back to Gnarl, his expression perturbed.

"Santa Claus distributes two kinds of gifts,

"Based on the names he keeps on his lists.

"Most children stay good, toys and candy their goal,

"But those that fall short get switches and coal.

"This magic must work, only for Santa Claus,

"Because it looks like each gift was judged by your paws.

"All of the children, both humble and haughty,

"Each got the items meant for the naughty.

"So whatever you meant, the gifts you put down,

"Make Santa seem angry with each child in town.

"And if that’s not enough to add to their bothers,

You killed off a few of their mothers and fathers!

The wizard stormed off, leaving Gnarl alone,

Surrounded by weeping, a low mournful tone.

Gnarl shuffled through town lost in a haze;

Twice now he’d ruined this most happy of days.

He went through the gate and outside the wall,

He sat by a creek, made a sorrowful call.

He’d done all he could to fix what was amiss,

But maybe a gnoll could not save Christmas.

Then a small voice spoke up from somewhere nearby,

Big Scary Gnoll-Man, why do you cry?

A young girl approached him, face covered in dirt,

Wearing only a ragged, discarded old shirt.

No shoes on her feet, the poorest of poor,

The stars for her ceiling, the dirt for a floor.

Can I sit beside you without my face being clawed?

Perplexed by her courage, Gnarl gave her a nod.

She sat down and leaned in with no sign of fear.

"Your fur is the warmest thing I’ve felt all year.

"However, you still haven’t answered my question!

Why are you weeping? What’s your confession?

Gnarl told her everything right from the start,

From Santa’s death to how he’d played the part,

Doing his best to set everything right,

Only to make so much sorrow and spite.

The girl sat and listened until he was done.

Then told him how her day had begun.

"I don’t own a belt, so I’m using the switch in its stead,

"And I sold off the coal to buy a morsel of bread.

"While this may be the first time they got no candy or doll,

This is the first year Santa gave me anything at all.

She gave him a hug and got up to go play,

But Gnarl was quick to ask her to stay.

"We have something in common; I can’t see you leaving,

"For no one else cares when outcasts are grieving.

"And only with you was my gift-giving right,

"So let me add more to your Christmas delight.

"We’ve got enough food, we can share it with you.

"And my pups have more bones than they can possibly chew.

"There are plenty of bandits you can help us to kill,

"And Santa’s red coat will keep off the chill.

"You’ll never have to sleep outside again,

From this day forward, you can live in my den.

The smile she wore Gnarl could not understand,

When his work had been rejected by the rest of the land.

Then all at once, he knew the meaning of Christmas.

To uplift the broken and leave none as a witness.

When next year came ‘round, he’d take Santa Claus’ place,

And he would put an orphan-like grin on everyone’s face.

This year he’d killed parents that wanted to brawl.

But next Christmas he’d bring cheer by killing them all.

Gold and Glass

Paul Cordes

Paul Cordes is a network security analyst from Virginia. Although his love of speculative fiction began with Jules Verne and Isaac Asimov, his biggest influence is the work of Steven Brust. When he’s not gaming with his friends, he’s a culinary experiment or is in front of a whiteboard designing yet another Savage Worlds conversion. He and his wife are currently owned by two cats. This is his first published work.

The air was freezing cold and masked crowds filled the streets. Painters hung their works behind frosted windows and sculptors carved their fiefdoms from two days of ice and snowfall. Domino-masked performers sang on corners normally used as dead drops by the street gangs. Some of them were even lucky enough to avoid the brawls that broke out wherever bands of Brokedown Nobles drove away packs of Rippers. They’d been particularly aggressive today, and it seemed like we hadn’t walked down a street where there wasn’t at least one fight going on.

I should have been watching the artists, but I wasn’t. Neither paintings, nor poems, nor sculptures, nor songs had my attention. I had my eye on a sun catcher in a glass shaper’s window. It was a harrier in flight, though most would call it a hawk, and it was perfect. The morning light glittered through glass that was clearer than crystal, making it look like it was constantly in motion. I pressed my hand to the glass that separated me from the glass bird and murmured a quiet prayer.

It’s beautiful. Charity laid her hand next to mine. The butterfly mask she wore hid her face but not her body language. To me it was a symbol worthy of reverence, but to her? Who knew? The bottom line is that she thought it was beautiful, and she wanted it.

Muse touched, too, judging by the quality of it, I said. A group of Brokedowns entered the shop without acknowledging us. I was fine with that. I prefer not to be noticed.

And the price. Charity rapped at the tag that hung the harrier with her knuckle.

We could buy it if we gave up drinking for a year, I said.

She elbowed me in the ribs in response. Nothing is worth that much, Gideon.

I could think of a few things. I smirked at her. If she had a reply it was interrupted when the glass shaper’s door burst open. A throwing knife and the pistol shot that followed it barely missed us, but the man they were aimed at didn’t. He and I went down in a tangle of limbs and cloaks, but I took a good look at him as we scrambled back to our feet. He was hidden behind the same featureless white mask and gray cloak that I and thousands of others wore today. The only things that set him apart were the yellow carnation pinned to his lapel and the hat that had fallen at Charity’s feet. He babbled an apology as he turned and fled into the crowd.

Should we have stopped him? Charity asked. She picked up the hat and turned it over in her hands. Saying it was unique would have been both kind and an understatement. It was bright scarlet with a broad floppy brim and a white struthio feather stuck through the band. It was ugly enough to justify burning it on the spot, but it also looked expensive enough to try to find the owner and see if we could get a reward for it.

I don’t feel like getting shot at today. I took it from her. An outline of a hound was stenciled on the inside of the crown, as well as a name: Simona. Charity’s reply died on her lips when we heard someone cock a flintlock behind us. We both turned to face the sound.

Then you should wise up and come with us, a broad man said. I would have recognized Valentin anywhere. He was large, angry, and missing most of his teeth. He and the five men with him were some of the Brokedown’s more trigger-happy enforcers. We could run or fight our way out, but he had a weapon and he didn’t really care who he hurt if it meant he got what he wanted. As much as I hated being carted off at gunpoint, I didn’t want to risk them shooting the people around us.

I wasn’t talking to you. I raised my hands. It was as was as much for Charity’s benefit as it was my own. She never copes well with being led around.

Doesn’t matter. The Avalerion said you’re supposed to meet with him, so you’ll meet with him! Valentin jabbed his gun into my chest. Now move!

Still think you don’t want to get shot? Charity glared at Valentin but the words were aimed at me. She turned around and let one of his goons prod her in the direction they wanted us to walk.

Pretty sure. I kept my hands up and followed her example.

Fine, was all she said to that. The word somehow made the frigid streets even colder.

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The rumor was that the Avalerion was an exile from the Santos family, the ruling clan responsible for the Inner Commons city guards. True or not, his foyer was designed to emphasize the connection. New paintings hung in splintered frames and the freshly polished furniture had the asymmetrical smoothness of wear rather than design. A mahogany door swung open on tarnished brass hinges, blasting us with heat that belonged in a jungle rather than a room in an icebound city. Valentin lead two of his men into the office and left three with us. We each passed the time in our own way. Charity fumed. The Brokedowns made a show of checking their weapons. I dozed.

Valentin was pale and trembling when he emerged from the office. He squeaked, The Avalerion will see you now. The three we’d been left with looked at each other, grinned, and practically threw us into the sweltering heat of the Avalerion’s office.

Most of Anatha’s nobles decorate their offices with recently commissioned artwork and light them with wide windows that are designed to show off the cityscape. This room had neither. It was dominated by the fireplace to our right and the hardwood desk directly in front of us. Immaculate silver sconces decorated the otherwise bare walls. The total effect was downright claustrophobic. A gaunt man with wispy gray hair sat behind the desk. He didn’t wear his frayed silk clothes as much as they were draped around him. All of that would have been notable enough, but the fact that his nose had been cut off some time in the past made him look skeletal. Charity glared at him. I inclined my head a fraction of an inch. He returned the gesture and smiled. This was the Avalerion, the man who ruled his section of the outer commons through funds, fists, and firearms. Sometimes even in that order.

Please. Sit. The Avalerion clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. We remained standing and silent. Charity was just being defiant, but I wanted to gauge his reaction to this minor disrespect. The man to my right shifted and the one to my left drummed his fingers on the butt of his pistol. The Avalerion sighed. Very well then, don’t. I do not wish to impose on my guests.

We’re guests now? Charity growled.

For now. I’m hoping to call you an employee by the time you leave, The Avalerion’s smile reminded me of a ghostsinger’s when they’re working with a corpse: calm, practiced, and completely devoid of empathy. I do apologize for the trouble. Valentin tends to act without thinking.

Isn’t that a little unfair? I asked. The Avalerion’s eyebrows shot up and I heard the guards shift again. Assuming he can think, I mean.

One beat, then two. Then the Avalerion smirked at me. Point taken. I must confess, most visitors are too petrified to make light of my men.

Most people aren’t your guests. I inclined my head again. It’s so nice to deal with civilized criminals.

Truth. Which brings us to the matter at hand. Rumor has it you are quite the investigator. The task I have requires that precise skillset. He was being nonchalant, but it didn’t entirely hide the edge in his voice. He wasn’t worried; that’d imply he gave a damn about the people outside his gang. But he had a personal interest in this specific incident. Worse, he was desperate enough to bring in outsiders.

We’re taking today for ourselves, Charity spat. She was still angry, but at least she was talking. That meant she wasn’t going to kill everyone in the room.

And I am only asking you to add a small job to your celebration. The Avalerion set his hands flat on the desk. Business time. The man who collided with you stole a ring of mine. I would like it recovered.

So make a new one, I said before Charity had the chance to say something that would make our situation even worse.

It is an Arame family signet, the Avalerion replied. They were the economic powerhouse among the ruling families. They were gracious enough to provide it to make certain purchases on their behalf.

So that’s what this was all about: ego and profit margins. Typical. I kept my mouth shut while the Avalerion continued. A hint of irritation crept into his voice.

You saw the thief as well, Gideon. Valentin mentioned a flower on the man in addition to the hat, though he could not recall the color or type. I suspect you not only know both, but could find this individual in the time it would take me to relay your information to my own specialists. You come highly recommended by the Duke. Disdain practically dripped from his words. Not with the thief, but with the fact his own people had failed him so badly he had to ask an outsider for help.

We don’t get mixed up in gang work. My turn to growl now. Not that I cared about his situation or was even particularly angry with him, but posturing matters when dealing with a predator. The trick was to convince him he could let us out of here without losing face.

Granted. But you care for your fellow man. The Avalerion’s eyes flicked to Charity, then me. The Rippers were supposed to receive the ring in the shop you were apprehended at. I suspect he will try to meet with them again, and if he succeeds I have no choice but to put them in their place. You can appreciate the consequences.

A gang war between the Brokedowns and the Rippers meant all kinds of destruction. I didn’t care about the gang members; they chose that life. But regular people would get hurt in the wave of arson and murder. All because the Avalerion was pissed that he lost a piece of jewelry. I flexed my fingers in frustration.

I take back what I said about civilized criminals.

The Avalerion nodded at me when he saw my reaction. I returned the gesture. I didn’t like being out maneuvered like this, but there wasn’t much choice. Plus, it gave me an opportunity.

We’ll expect compensation, of course. I glanced at Charity while I spoke. She looked like she had been about to strangle me…until I got to the part where I expected the Avalerion to owe us. Then she grinned. I wrote a note on a piece of scrap paper from the Avalerion’s desk and slid it across to him. He laughed when he read it. That’ll do for me, but you’ll owe her a favor.

A favor? To her? Incredulous didn’t begin to describe the look he gave us. Charity’s smile was sweet enough to rot your teeth. Very well. Now, to work. The Avalerion dismissed us with a wave of his hand. The door slammed shut once we were back in the foyer. Charity was humming while she retrieved our masks and cloaks.

What was the note? Charity was downright giddy now. She hated the Avalerion and the rest of the gangs. She could seriously damage his organization if she used it correctly.

My fee. I pulled my mask back on. One of the Avalerion’s guards opened the front door as a none-too-subtle signal for us to get to work.

Valentin’s head on a spike? She leaned on my shoulder. Then she bounced up and down again. An invite to Mathea’s spring auction? Rare whiskey?

You can keep guessing, but I’m not going to tell you, I said as we stepped out onto the street. The cold stung at our skin while I stood there gathering my thoughts. I knew he was a man wearing a carnation, but that wasn’t enough on its own. The mask and cloak weren’t anything special. That just left the hat. I took Charity’s hand in mine and walked back towards the festival. Neither of us knew a hat maker named Simona, so we had to hope that someone was still sober enough to show us.

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The revelers grew rowdier once we passed midday, and the sculptors surrendered their stalls to the musicians that had either slept in or partied their way through the morning. It took us nearly two hours of interrogating people before a kind man in a fox mask led us to a rundown shop in No Man’s Land. New windows and fresh paint had done a lot to make the shop look younger than it was and a lopsided sign that read Simona’s Hattery hung precariously above the door.

Do we have a plan yet? Charity spoke up for the first time in the quarter hour we had been watching the shop. She had grown quiet once the novelty of the situation had worn off. Hunting wasn’t her favorite activity even at the best of times, but the fact it was infringing on her favorite holiday just added insult to injury.

Almost. I bit my lower lip while I turned the final pieces over in my head. I had goals. First was anonymity. We couldn’t risk the Rippers tracking us before we got the ring back. Second was getting Simona to talk. Artisans in Anatha are notoriously tight lipped unless you’re either rich or important. We’re neither.

I still think a smash and grab would easiest. Charity squinted at the shop.

Then she’d fight back and we’d have to hurt her. I sighed. I was thinking lie our way through it.

We’re on a timer, people could get hurt, and you want to run a game on her? You’re the strangest assassin I have ever met. She huffed.

First, I’m not an assassin. We’ve talked about that. Second, I promise this will be quick and easy. I kissed her on the cheek like I had been taught and started walking towards the shop.

You never do easy, angel. It’s always some crazy plan with six moving parts. Charity fell into step beside me. The hunt might bore her, but the chase was something else.

Only three this time, I promise. Remember the crazy lady who wanted you to mix beer and milk at the bar the other night? I asked. The look of disgust on Charity’s face told me she remembered that particular crime against alcohol. Pretend you’re her. Let’s go. I tucked Charity’s hand into my elbow, stood up straight, and made a noise that almost sounded like human speech as I flung the door open. Charity swept inside without missing a beat. A wrinkled woman with hair that matched the slush on the street squinted at us with alcohol-glazed eyes and fumbled for the mostly empty bottle of red wine that sat on top of a heavily used ledger.

In here, my dear! Yes, yes, quickly now! It’s cold outside and we can’t afford to waste time! I wasn’t talking so much as braying with a drawl. Charity moved around the shop like she owned the place and started manhandling anything she could reach. Hats, thread, needles, it didn’t matter. Anything that wasn’t nailed down was examined as though it were a gift from the Goddesses themselves.

I’m closed! The wine in Simona’s glass sloshed around as she tried to shoo us away with it. Either that or she was trying to point at us; she was so drunk I couldn’t tell.

But your door is unlocked and the sign very clearly states you are open! Besides, who would be closed on this glorious feast day here in the center of modern civilization? I spread my arms to encompass the entire shop.

Maybe we should go back to our room, lover. She seems busy, and your mother’s still worried about an heir, Charity cooed at me. She set down the bonnet she had been looking at and strode over to the countertop that separated us from Simona.

Ah. Yes. That. My cheeks burned. Clearly from warming up after being outside for so long. Yes, that was it. Later, my dear, later! Business first! Though it looks like Miss Simona is more interested in her wine than helping us!

Help you? How? Simona punctuated her question by draining her wine glass.

Why, telling us who purchased this magnificent hat! I held the hat out for her examination and prayed that she was sober enough to recognize it. We found it in a trash bin, you see, and I thought, ‘Such a shame its owner has lost it.’ Then I turned to my dear Christina here and said ‘We should find who made it.’ So here we are! We will pay, of course!

Simona’s expression had run the range of confusion, amusement, and now finally reached comprehension. She frowned at the two of us as she reached for the wine bottle. He wanted to be anonymous. He’ll stay that way. The way she said was definite. That’s all there was to say on the topic.

Is that Terozhan red? Charity snatched the bottle away Simona. She watched Charity more intensely than I’ve seen some mothers watch someone with their newborn.

It is. It’s expensive, and it’s mine. Simona grabbed the bottle and pulled. Charity held firm and pretended like she was still reading the label.

Oh no, of course! I just want to see what vintage it is. It’s hard to read in this light. Charity yanked it away from Simona’s hand again, which only further angered the milliner. I stepped over to the countertop and slid the ledger away from the impending confrontation.

Give. It. Back! Simona’s patience ran out. She grabbed the bottle with both hands and pulled with all her might. Or rather, she tried to. I took advantage of the distraction to step away from the chaos with her ledger held beneath my cloak. Charity let it go without a fight, which sent Simona tumbling backwards from her chair. Wine cascaded all over her clothes and the floor. Simona hadn’t even seen the damage before she started to spout a string of profanity that would make a sailor’s ears bleed.

Sillanna’s blood! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to happen! Charity clapped her hands over her mouth and scrambled behind the countertop to try to help Simona back to her feet. Simona was too busy swatting Charity and too drunk to notice that her ledger had disappeared.

Out! Both of you! Out! Simona threw something at us. It struck the wall ten feet to my left. Maybe she hit one of the duplicates she had to be seeing.

Come along, dear! Before her aim improves! I fled with Charity hot on my heels. The revelers watched us run but didn’t intervene. Being a hero is a good way to get hurt in this city, and no one wanted to cut their celebration short to stop over what looked like a robbery. We ran for home like the Dead King himself was after us.

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Don’t believe the people who tell you that the work I used to do is all assassinations and chasing people through strange cities and exotic forests. A lot of it is gathering information about your target. Where they live, who they see, what they eat, what they wear, those kinds of things. The work is boring, but the moment when you find the key that breaks it open is one of my favorites. Unfortunately, the work is painfully dull for everyone who has to wait for you to find it.

This is less exciting than I thought. Charity was standing by the window as she watched the sun sink below the horizon. The tap of her foot on the warped wooden floor was the only other sound in our room.

I know. I sat with my back to her while I pored over the ledger. I’d gotten lucky; Simona made a habit of listing unusual materials in their own column. Unfortunately it appeared she was a specialist when it came to struthio feathers.

You haven’t even looked up from that thing since we got here, Charity huffed.

I know. So many hats and nothing that was even close to what we needed. I turned past a page where the word muse was scrawled around a red wine stain. So that’s why she crawled into the bottle. She figured that if alcohol had blessed her once it might do so again.

I bet you didn’t even notice me changing into this corset. Charity’s shadow shifted as she spoke. She was drumming her fingers on her upper arm.

You didn’t change. Sequins. Blue trim. Pink trim. Gold. A mass commission for the courtesans of the House of Mocking Birds. Still nothing.

Are you sure? The smirk in her voice finally got me to glance at her with narrowed eyes. You looked.

I didn’t look, I glared. I turned back to the work at hand. I was most of the way through the ledger. It had to be here.

Same thing. She settled down next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. Are you any closer?

Gotcha! I pumped my fist into the air when I finally found what I had been looking for. There, plain as day, were the words Scarlet, struthio feather; broad brim—Burned Ash Inn, room 3.

Gotcha? Charity ran her hand along my back she read the line I was pointing it. I suppressed a shudder when her fingers traced over the scars that had first drawn her attention to me. I hated when she did that but I put up with it because she loved them so much. The Ash, huh? Sabaaya’s a decent person; he’ll stay out of our way if I ask him nicely.

Sabaaya’s the owner, I hope, I replied.

Yep. She fiddled with my hair while she spoke. I grimaced. She only did that when she was about to ask me something I wouldn’t like. But if I call in this favor from him, I want you to pose for a sketch.

What? Why?! I blinked at her in disbelief. She had been trying to get me to pose for a drawing since we’d met and I’d put it off every time. Like every other member of my old order I lived and died by my anonymity. I’d never gotten over that even after they abandoned me in the dust wastes.

Because it’ll make me feel better about chasing jewelry instead of watching the artists. Charity leapt to her feet before I could respond, so I just chuckled. I had lived with her for almost a year now and the moments where she knocked me off balance were some of my favorites. The clatter of latches and squeak of old hinges signaled the opening of the Toy Box. So, do we have a deal?

Fine. But I take point when we deal with this guy. I moved over to where Charity was crouched and took the proffered brigandine vest.

But you’ve been taking lead all day! Any effect her wide eyes and pout might have had were ruined by the flintlock pistol in each of her hands. I laughed again and set them on the table.

Yup, which means I should finish the job. Next time we’ll do it your way. I accepted the gun belt she handed me. Though I can’t help but notice you’re assuming we’ll get into a fight.

We’re going near Ripper territory to steal a ring was taken from the Brokedowns, angel. Charity kicked the lid of the Toy Box shut, pulled on her own brigandine, and fastened a belt around her waist. A nasty looking mace dangled by her side. The only way this doesn’t turn into a fight is if we get lucky.

I kept my thoughts about that to myself. We could still come out ahead if we played this right. We just had to catch a man whose voice we had never heard, whose face we had never seen, and whose name we didn’t know. In other words, business as usual.

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"He did what? Most people took a second to go from fear to fury when you told them one of their guests was involved in a theft that could spark a gang war. Sabaaya, a large, bearded man with a team of chins, had skipped fear entirely. I will turn his skull into a soup bowl! I will flog him with a fire iron so hard his family will bear bruises! I will—"

Sabaaya! Charity barked. He fell silent. I was content to stay out of her way while they talked. You don’t need to do anything. Just give us a key and your blessing to drag him out here.

Blessing! I will not give you my blessing, I will give you a mandate! Sabaaya pulled a key off the ring hanging from his belt and handed it to us. He used the name Marcel when he checked in, said he was here to see the festival for himself. Little bastard wants to use my inn to steal from a gang lord? Pah, I’ll show him what happens when you anger Sabaaya! He is out, but once he returns you can have him all to yourselves!

You won’t regret it. Charity smiled at him as he rose and led the way out of his office. We walked through the common room with its scorched pillars and vaulted ceiling on our way to the stairs. You could tell locals from visitors by their reaction to our passing. The visitors watched us like hawks, either out of curiosity or fear, while the locals completely ignored our presence. They knew that we would have already gotten violent if we had business with anyone here. Still, a few of them closed the curtains of their booths as we walked by. We reached the hallway at the top of the stairs and made our way to room 3.

The door opened easily enough. It was a simple room with basic furniture. A clean, soft bed and its accompanying night table took up one corner of the room. Moonlight streamed in through the window that was set opposite door, beneath which sat a plain trunk. The window overlooked the courtyard and the burned ash tree that gave the inn its name. Not a bad room if you’re worried about someone coming after you. It let you see patrons coming and going, and if you’re returning to the inn every night you can see the candlelight of anyone who’s waiting for you.

Does he normally turn that shade of red? I asked. The trunk was locked, so I fished a set of picks from my belt and set to work on it.

Only when he’s angry. Not that it takes much. She was grinning again. We were close to our quarry and the anticipation was getting to her.

He’s not another ex-suitor, is he? Do I need to shoot him on principle? I said as the lock clicked open.

Nope. My old boss. Charity was too busy squinting at something on the end table to pay attention as I swung the lid of the trunk open. The clothes inside were eclectic. Threadbare rags sat next to a gem-covered surcoat. Ten different pairs of glasses were secured to the inside of the lid, and what looked like a makeup kit was tucked neatly into one corner the trunk. A variety of gold jewelry filled a small compartment in the opposite corner. Marcel wasn’t a merchant, or even a thief. There weren’t any weapons, though, which ruled out any of the more violent criminals you might find trying to pull off something like this.

Marcel’s a grifter. I scowled at the contents of the chest.

"And he’s our grifter." Charity held up a vase she had picked up from the end table. It contained a bouquet of yellow carnations. Two decapitated stems stood at the front of the case.

I almost feel bad catching this guy now. That’s just sloppy. I left the trunk open and stepped away from the window while we talked.

Sympathy? For this guy? That earned a raised eyebrow from Charity. She set the vase back down on the end table and peered out the window.

I said almost. He’s still starting a gang war. I checked my pistols and patted the hilt of the knife that hung on my belt. But you know what this means?

We have to wait again, don’t we? Charity sighed. Now I actually did feel bad for Marcel.

We have to wait again, I echoed. She glowered at me and slumped down into the chair. I stood off to the side while we waited for our con man to return. Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long before we heard footsteps approaching the door. I drew one of my pistols and concealed it under my cloak while I listened.

There, you’re home, a voice said. I was fairly certain it was a woman voice, but it sounded like she gargled with glass.

Thank you, Cateline. I appreciate the escort. Once I’ve retrieved the item in question I will deliver it in…let’s say, one hour? The man spoke with the same accent as the Avalerion, but it was just a little forced. Most people would miss it, but it was impossible to ignore if you knew what to listen for. He wasn’t a city native, that was for sure.

Fine. Just be sure you’re on time, the woman snarled. Five pairs of feet stomped away. I heard a sigh, then the door opened and we finally got our first look at Marcel. He was a thoroughly average middle-aged man. Not thin enough to stand out but not fat enough to slow him down. He was clean-shaven, and even his hair was the same uniform black. The yellow carnation was still secured to his lapel. I let the door click shut before I spoke.

Evening. I smiled. Marcel yelped and drew a stiletto. I lifted my pistol and clicked the hammer back in response. Relax, we’re here to talk.

Said the masked gunman. Marcel glowered, but he at least had the sense to sheath the knife.

You got me there, but you did draw first. I tried to be reassuring, but pointing a gun at someone always makes that harder than you’d expect. Where’s the ring?

What ring? Marcel tried looking confused. Maybe it was exhaustion or the gun pointed at his head, but he didn’t quite pull it off.

Don’t play stupid with us. Angel doesn’t like it when I break people’s legs. Charity smiled sweetly and plucked at something on her mace. I saw Marcel’s eyes glance at her, the mace, the window, then back to me. He was stuck.

The Arame ring you got from the Brokedown Nobles. Look, I can tell you’re not from this city. Your clothes and your accent give it away. I gestured towards the trunk and