Everything seemed … slow, suddenly. Almost weightless. And objects weren’t simply themselves anymore, but were surrounded by a dense cloud of translucent duplicates stretching in the direction they were moving. These were possibilities, Naumoriel had told him, the shadow a moving object cast into the future. Where it would be one second, two seconds, three seconds from now. What would happen if it turned, collided, bounced.
At first it had given him no more than a splitting headache. But he’d practiced, as the old ghoul had instructed, and slowly he’d been able to make sense of the crowded shadow-world. Now he bent, picked up a stone, and flicked it into the air, watching its shadows race ahead of it to trace out a perfect parabola. He hurled a second pebble sideways, its path ricocheting off the front of a shuttered stable before precisely intersecting the first rock as it came down. He watched it happen, shadows growing more solid until the two stones came together with a click and fell back to the cobbles.
If all else fails, at least I can make my living in a circus. Just not for very long. On his right hip, he wore the energy bottle, and he could feel it growing warm, too, as its power crackled through his body to fuel his new abilities. On his other hip, in its leather sheath, Naumoriel’s final gift seemed to hum with anticipation.
Gyre let his concentration lapse, and the world of shadow and possibility faded away. His pulse pounded in his ears, and his head throbbed, but not as badly as it had after his earliest practices. He paused for a moment, breathing deep, until the pain subsided a little, then turned the last corner and headed for the Mushroom’s Daughter.
The inn was marked by a sign showing a busty young woman wearing a red-and-white mushroom cap and very little else. Light streamed out from its windows, and smoke gushed from several chimneys. As he got closer, he heard voices emerging as well, belting out an old scavenger’s song in not-very-good unison:
First time down she didn’t know what she’d find
Second time down she thought she’d lose her mind
Third time down she took me by the hand
Fourth time down she told me I was grand
Show me the way, tunnel girl, show me the way
Down to your secret tunnel
It continued, in much the same vein and at about the same level of subtlety. Gyre did his best to wipe the grimace from his face before he pushed through the curtained doorway.
The common room, facing the street, was packed with people, the warmth of so many bodies making Gyre instantly break out in sweat. It smelled of the press of humanity, and also of piss and spilled beer. The tables had been pushed to the sides of the room, and the crowd ringed a clear space wide enough for a dozen people to dance while the rest of the room kept up the tune.
A couple of dancers stumbled off, arm in arm, both covered in sweat. Behind Gyre, a young woman dragged a hesitating young man onto the floor, with roars of laughter and approval from the crowd. Someone emptied a drink over the boy’s head, which stunned him long enough that the girl pulled him away from the safety of the press and started turning him around and around. The next verse was already well along, detailing the adventures of a scavenger boy and the improbable long, hard objects he insisted on bringing on his expeditions.
Kit was dancing. Of course she was. She seemed particularly popular, spinning from one partner to the next, pressed close against a portly woman and then passed off to a gangly boy who nearly lost his feet trying to keep up with her. She’d lost her shirt somewhere and wore only her trousers and a cloth wrap around her chest, her blue hair damp and floppy with sweat. Every time she passed close to the bar, someone held out a clay mug, and she took a long pull and handed it back without missing a beat.
Show me your pack, tunnel boy, show me your pack, the chorus went. What’re you bringing down?
There was a moment of confusion, since there were at least a hundred verses to the song and a dozen different people had different ideas of which came next. Gyre took the opportunity to slip to the edge of the dance floor and take Kit by the arm, just as she snatched another mug from a waving girl in the crowd.
“Heya,” she said, trying to drink and getting maybe half of it in her mouth. By the way she wobbled, she’d had more success earlier in the night. “Where you been? You’re missing the fun.”
“I can see that,” Gyre said. “You seem very popular.”
“At first everyone was just sitting around being boring,” Kit said. “But when I told ’em drinks were on me until dawn, they livened up. And—” She looked around the packed crowd. “I think people brought their friends?”
“I thought,” Gyre said, as quietly as he could given the continued attempts at song, “that we agreed to keep a low profile.”
“Relax.” Kit patted him confidently on the shoulder. “Raskos skipped town, and your sister’s gone too. Nobody’s looking for us.”
“That we know of. We’re still—”
“You really need to learn to have fun.” Kit gave him a sloppy grin and gestured at the party. “See? This is fun. Fuuuuuuuun.” She wobbled dizzily. “I need a drink.”
“Okay.” Gyre tightened his grip on her arm. “Come on. Time for bed.”
“What’re you on about?” Kit lurched away from him, tugging hard. “Let go of me.”
“Kit—”
“Hey.” A large woman, a head taller than Kit, loomed behind her and draped an arm over her shoulders. “This a problem?”
“Nope,” Kit said, eyes not leaving Gyre. “Not a problem. Right?”
Gyre let go. Kit looked up at the woman, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed her, awkwardly but enthusiastically. Eventually Kit stumbled back a step, giggling.
“Get me another drink, would you?” she said, and the woman grinned and pushed into the crowd. Kit turned back to Gyre.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said.
“What look?”
“I am not coming to bed, and I am definitely not coming to your bed.” She set her jaw. “I may have had a … a moment of weakness when we were freezing to death—”
“—and in the tunnel—” Gyre muttered.
“—but that doesn’t mean we’re … whatever you think we are. You don’t own me.”
“I wouldn’t suggest I did,” Gyre said. “But we’re partners on this job—”
“And I’ll be ready. You just make sure you are too.” She leaned in closer. “You sure you don’t want a drink? You need to loosen up.”
“I’ll be fine.” Gyre took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. “Enjoy the dance.”
“I plan to.”
He turned away, pushing through the crowd until he reached the stairs. It was darker here, which apparently made it the venue of choice for couples who couldn’t keep their hands off one another long enough to make it to a room. Gyre edged past two young men in a complicated tangle of limbs and kisses, stepped over a stray pair of trousers, and climbed to the second floor, where several hallways of rooms extended to the back of the inn, up against the rock. The sounds of those who had managed to make it to a room followed him as he trudged along the corridor.
It wasn’t as though they were short of funds. Naumoriel seemed to be able to produce thalers in almost unlimited amounts, and the old ghoul hadn’t batted an eye when Gyre had asked for sixty thousand. What he’d given Kit for traveling expenses would cover buying drinks for the whole inn every night for a month. But it’s still a risk to draw attention like this.